LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


K   5" 


Ben  King's  Verse 


BEN   KING'S  VERSE 


EDITED    BY    NIXON    WATERMAN 
INTRODUCTION   BY  JOHN   McGOVERN 
BIOGRAPHY   BY   OPIE   READ 


CHICAGO 
FORBES  & 
COMPANY 

1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1894,  1898 
BY  ASENETH  BELL  KING 

SIXTEENTH  PRINTING 


THE  DRAWINGS  IN  THIS  VOLUME  ARE  CONTRIBUTED  BY  CHAS. 
A.  GRAY,  W.  W.  DENSLOW,  H.  G.  MARATTA,  RAY  BROWN,  F. 
HOLME,  J.  T.  MCCUTCHEON,  HORACE  TAYLOR,  WM.  SCHMEDT- 
GEN,  T.  E.  POWERS,  AND  HARRY  O.  LANDERS.  COVER  AND 
TITLE-PAGE  DESIGNED  BY  HOWARD  BOWEN. 


'22/# 

to 

An 


i 


INTRODUCTION 

OO  FAR  as  we  know,  this  young  man,  now  so 
suddenly  dead,  was  the  drollest  mimic  and  gen 
tlest  humorist  of  our  region.  He  existed  as  the 
welcome  and  mirthful  shadow  of  conventional  and 
tiresome  things. 

He  began  as  the  expositor  of  "  The  Maiden's 
Prayer"  on  the  piano,  where  each  accented  note  was 
flat  or  sharp,  and  the  music  flowed  rapidly,  or  over 
great  difficulties,  as  the  score  might  determine.  He 
arose,  and  looking  half-witted,  recited  with  unap 
proachable  modesty  the  stammering  delight  which  he 
would  feel  "if  he  could  be  by  Her! "  He  frowsled  his 
hair  and  became  Paderewski,  who  forthwith  fell  upon 
the  piano  tooth  and  nail,  tore  up  the  track,  derailed 
the  symphony,  went  down  stairs  and  shook  the  fur 
nace,  fainted  at  the  pedals,  and  was  carried  out  rigid 
by  supers — the  greatest  pianist  of  any  age.  He  wrote 
''If  I  Should  Die  To-night" — a  parody  that  was 
accepted  as  the  true  original,  the  sun,  the  center  of  the 


227157 


Introduction 

great  If-I-should-die-to-night  system  of  thought  and 
poetry.  He  wrote  the  poet's  lament — that  there  was 
nothing  to  eat  but  food,  and  nowhere  to  come  but  off. 
The  artists  of  the  newspaper  world  generously  sprang 
to  his  side;  they  placed  him  pictorially  before  the 
people,  and  determined,  with  almost  prophetic  spirit, 
that  our  small  circle  should  not  alone  dwell  with  undi- 
minishing  laughter  upon  the  gambols  of  Ben  King. 
He  was  coldly,  then  not  coldly,  then  warmly  received 
by  the  church  fairs,  the  clubs,  and  the  Elks,  where  he 
got  a  supper — if  any  were  left.  At  last  he  charged 
a  small  sum  for  appearing  publicly,  and  this  sum  was 
rapidly  enlarging  and  his  fortune  was  in  sight,  when 
the  hotel  porter  found  him  dead  in  his  room  at  Bowl 
ing  Green,  Kentucky. 

During  the  years  we  knew  him,  he  never  spoke  to 
us  in  a  disparaging  way  concerning  any  other  person, 
and  unless  Paderewski's  comb  was  ruffled  by  Ben's 
exhibition  of  hair  and  haste  in  piano-playing,  no 
parody,  or  perk,  or  prank  of  Ben  King  ever  depended 
for  its  success  upon  the  wounding  of  another  creature's 
feelings. 

We  all  accounted  him  a  genius,  and  while  we  could 
not  guess  what  he  would  do  next,  we  awaited  his  per 
formances  with  complacence,  laughing  as  if  we 
vi 


Introduction 

owned   him  and  had   ourselves  ordered  his  latest  jeu 
dj  esprit. 

We  deplored  the  untimely  moment  of  his  end;  we 
held  beautiful,  solemn  and  impressive  memorial  serv 
ices  over  his  body,  with  music  by  the  sweet  singers 
whom  he  had  loved  when  he  was  alive,  and  touching 
words  by  ministers  of  the  gospel;  we  buried  him  affec 
tionately,  as  one  who  could  least  be  spared  from  our 
circle;  and  as  we  were  the  witnesses  of  what  he  did, 
we  now  charge  ourselves  to  be  the  testimonies  of  his 
rare  talents.  JOHN  McGovERN. 


BIOGRAPHY 

T>  ENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  KING,  JR.,  was  born 
•*-*  at  St.  Joseph,  Michigan,  March  17,  1857,  and 
died  at  Bowling  Green,  Kentucky,  April  7,  1 894.  He 
was  married  Nov.  27,  1 883,  to  Aseneth  Belle  Latham, 
of  St.  Joseph,  Michigan,  by  Professor  David  Swing  at 
his  residence  in  Chicago.  The  wife  and  two  sons, 
Bennett  Latham  King  and  Spencer  P.  King,  survive 
him. 

While  yet  a  child,  music  came  to  Ben  King  as  an 
inspiration.  His  infant  fingers  touched  the  keys  of  a 
piano  and  a  ripple  of  notes,  strange  and  sweet,  startled 
his  parents  into  the  consciousness  that  a  great  talent 
had  been  given  unto  him.  How  odd  a  boy  he  was — 
no  one  understood  him.  On  the  edge  of  the  marsh 
he  would  sit  during  hours  at  a  time,  under  the  spell 
of  the  weird  music  amid  the  rushes.  As  he  grew  up, 
lacking  the  instincts  that  make  men  successful  in  busi 
ness,  he  was  pronounced  a  failure — not  by  those  who 
had  warmed  themselves  in  the  glow  of  his  poetic 
ix 


Biography 

nature,  but  by  the  man  who  believed  that  to  turn  over 
a  dime  and  thereby  to  make  a  dollar  of  it  was  the 
most  gracious  faculty  that  could  be  bestowed  upon  a 
member  of  the  human  family.  But  when  Ben  King 
died,  St.  Joseph  became  more  widely  known  in  one 
day  than  hundreds  of  excursions  and  a  thousand 
orchards  had  served  to  advertise  it  in  the  past.  On 
that  April  morning,  people  living  in  the  far  East  and  the 
far  West  asked  the  question:  "Where  is  St.  Joseph?" 

Ben  King  was  not  only  a  man  of  music;  he  was  a 
poet,  a  gentle  satirist,  and  a  humorist  of  the  highest 
order.  Every  company  was  brightened  by  his  coming, 
every  man  felt  better  for  having  heard  his  quaint  re 
marks.  There  was  about  him  a  droll,  a  charming 
irresponsibility— a  Thomas  Hood  from  Michigan. 

I  find,  as  I  have  found  for  the  fiftieth  time  while 
striving  to  write  these  lines,  that  I  am  still  too  much 
under  the  shock  caused  by  his  death  to  write  dispas 
sionately  of  him.  My  judgment,  the  common  sense 
that  one  should  bring  to  bear  upon  such  a  subject,  is 
obscured  by  the  vivid  picture  of  an  early  morning; 
and  down  a  dark  hallway  I  still  hear  a  violent  knock 
ing — and  then  comes  a  throbbing  silence,  and  out  of 
that  silence  comes  an  excited  whisper — "  Ben  King 
is  dead."  OPIE  READ. 


Contents 

CULTURED  GIRL  AGAIN,  THE  211 

DAY  AND  THE  SHINGLE,  THE  262 

DE  BLACKBIRD  FETCH  DE  SPRING  01 

DE  BUGLE  ON  DE  HILL  56 

DE  CIRCUS  TURKEY  j^o 

DE  CLOUDS  AM  GWINE  TER  PASS  102 

DE  CUSHVILLE  HOP  213 

DE  EYARFQUAKE  l^ 

DE  GOOD  SHIP  ^! 

DE  MASSA  jg^ 

DE  RIBBER  OB  LIFE  122 

DE  SPRING-HOUSE  167 

DE  SUN'S  COMIN'  BACK  34 

DE  WATAH  MELLEN  SPLOSHUN  267 

DECORATE  DE  CABIN  204 

DIDN'T  WE,  JIM?  147 

DOWN  IN  WALHALLALAH  248 

DOWN  THE    MISSISSIPPI  gr 

DREAMY  DAYS  208 

Ec-A-LEC- TIC  FlTS  ir2 

ELOPEMENT  1  ? 

EVOLUTION  ^ 

FATES,  THE  ^ 

FLOWER'S  BALL,  THE  30 

FROG'S  THANKSGIVING,  A  113 
xil 


Contents 

GEDDER  IN  Yo'  GRAIN 

GIRL  WITH  THE  JERSEY,  THE  95 

GITTIN'  MY  SOUL  INTER  SHAPE  3 

GORD  ONLY  KNOWS  2I  5 

GRAVE  MATTERS  23! 

HAIR-TONIC  BOTTLE,  THE  128 

HANK  SPINK  1 1  5 

HEART  OF  HEARTS  254 

HER  FOLKS  AN'  HIZ'N  17 

How  HANK  DIED  22 

How  OFTEN  24 

HUCCUM  IT  so  ?  2^5 

I  FED  THE  FISHES  i°8 

IF  I  CAN  BE  BY  HER  5° 

IF  I  SHOULD  DIE  l 

IF  MY  WIFE  TAUGHT  SCHOOL  96 

FM  A  BLUEJAY  65 

INJUN  SUMMAH  200 

INTRODUCTION  vl 

ir  JANE  JONES  Io 

JES'  TAKE  MY  ADVICE  217 

KEEP  HIM  A  BABY  155 

LEF'  DE  OLE  Hoss  OUT  i  5° 

LEGEND  OF  THE  ST.  JOSEPH  24° 

LIKE  DE  OLE  MULE  BES'  119 
xiii 


Contents 

LIKE  THE  NEW  FRIENDS  BEST  7  3 

LITTLE  JUDE  244 

LITTLE  PUCKEN  SINGER  246 

LITTLE  'RASMUS  78 

LOVEY-LOVES  I  I  4 

MARY  HAD  A  CACTUS  PLANT  261 

MERMAID,  THE  89 

Miss  BAHTHOLAMEW  270 

NEGRO  SONG  OF  HOME,  A  75 

NILE,  THE  1 1 7 

NOBODY  KNOWS  80 

No  HARM  DONE  41 

OLD  MUSICIAN'S  FATE,  THE  220 

OLD  SPINNING  WHEEL,  THE  98 

OLD  ST.  JOE  58 

OLE  BOSSIE  Cow  1 1 1 

OWL  AND  THE  CROW,  THE  100 

PARAPHRASE  47 

PATRIOTISM  AND  A  PENSION  218 

PESSIMIST,  THE  225 

PINKEY  i 80 

POST-DRIVER,  THE  149 

PRESQUE  ISLE  161 

'RASTUS  KING  67 

RECORD  F'OM  'WAY  BACK,  A  227 
xiv 


Contents 

RETROSPECTION,  A  196 

RIVER  ST.  JOE,  THE  36 

SAD  FATE  OF  YIM  YONSON  237 

SANTA'S  PRESENTS  Fo'  DE  GOOD  250 

SAY  WHEN,  AND  SAY  IT  2 

SHE  DOES  NOT  HEAR  83 

SOFIE  JAKOBOWSKI  133 

S'POSIN'  77 

ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY  198 

SUMMER'S  AFTERNOON,  A  104 

SUNRISE  144 

SYCAMORE  255 

THANKSGIBBIN'  IN  OLE  VIRGINNY  229 

THAT  CAT  1 1 2 

THAT  VALENTINE  70 

TRAMP,  THE  61 

TOBOGGAN  54 

ULTIMATUM  ,THE  206 

UNDER  OBLIGATIONS  171 

Vi  VIGUERS  273 

VOLAPUK  259 

WHEN  THE  STAGE  GITS  IN  209 

WOODTICKS,  THE  145 

YALLER  JACKETS'  NEST,  THE  20 

ZACCHEUS  193 

XV 


IF  I  SHOULD  DIE 

TF  I  should  die  to-night 

And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  say, 

Weeping  and  heartsick  o'er  my  lifeless  clay — 

If  I  should  die  to-night, 

And  you  should  come  in  deepest  grief  and  woe — 
And  say:   "  Here  's  that  ten  dollars  that  I  owe," 

I  might  arise  in  my  large  white  cravat 

And  say,  "What's  that?" 

If  I  should  die  to-night 

And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  kneel, 
Clasping  my  bier  to  show  the  grief  you  feel, 

I  say,  if  I  should  die  to-night 
And  you  should  come  to  me,  and  there  and  then 
Just  even  hint  'bout  payin'  me  that  ten, 

I  might  arise  the  while, 

But  I  'd  drop  dead  again,, 


SAY  WHEN,  AND  SAY  IT 

\T7RITE  me  a  poem  that  has  n't  been  writ, 

Sing  me  a  song  that  hasn't  been  sung  yet, 
String  out  a  strain  that  has  n't  been  strung, 

And  ring  me  a  chime  that  has  n't  been  rung  yet. 

Paint  me  a  picture  but  leave  out  the  paint, 
Pile  up  a  pile  of  old  scenes  of  my  schoolery, 

Leave  me  alone  ;  I  would  fain  meditate 

And  mourn  o'er  the  moments  I  lost  in  tomfoolery. 

Tell  me  a  tale  that  dropped  out  of  a  star, 
Push  me  a  pun  that  is  pungent,  not  earthy. 

I  must  have  something  sharp,  strident,  and  strong 
To  eke  out  a  laugh  or  be  moderately  mirthy.   - 

Give  me  a  love  that  has  never  been  loved, 

Not  knowing  the  glance  of  the  bold  and  unwary, 

A  cherub  abreast  with  the  saints  up  above, 
And  I  '11  get  along  and  be  passably  merry. 

But  come  on  the  fly  to  me,  come  on  the  jump, 
Do  n't  hang  around  on  the  outskirts  and  walk  to  me; 

Throw  out  your  chest  well,  and  hold  up  your  head  ; 
Say  when,  and  say  it,  or  else  do  n't  you  talk  to  me. 

9 


GITTIN'  INTER  SHAPE 

T)  ECKON  de  angel  what  rolled  'way  de  stone, 

An'  let  de  good  shepherd  escape, 
Some  day  '11  fly  down  to  dis  prison  ob  sin 
An'  lib'rate  all  dat's  prepahed  to  come  in ; 

So  I  'se  gittin'  my  soul  inter  shape, 
Girtin'  my  soul  inter  shape,  fo'  yo'  see 
Hit's  a  mighty  big  stone  dat's  layin'  on  me, 

Mighty  big  stone  !     Yes,  indeedy ! 

I  hope  de  good  angel  will  hab  heaps  o'  strength, 

Or  else  bring  old  Samson  along, 
Kase  the  sin  on  my  soul 's  mo*  'en  fo'ty  foot  deep ; 
Yo'  see,  I  bin  one  ob  dese  wanderin'  sheep, 

An'  hit  's  gwine  ter  need  somebody  strong, 
Gwine  ter  need  somebody  strong,  doan  yo'  see ; 
Hit 's  a  mighty  big  weight  dat  's  a  restin'  on  me. 

Pow'ful  big  weight !     Yes,  indeedy! 

I  'se  gittin'  my  soul  inter  shape  fo'  de  day 

When  Peter  'gins  iakin'  'is  toll  ; 
Ready  ter  lay  down  my  burden  an'  rest, 
Ready  ter  take  up  de  cross  ob  de  blest, 

Ready  ter  entah  de  fol'. 

3 


Gittin'  Inter  Shape 

Gittin'  my  soul  inter  shape,  doan  yo'  see ; 
Dar's  a  big  load  ob  sin  bin  restin'  on  me, 
Big  load  ob  sin  !  Yes,  indeedy! 
Yes,  indeedy! 


EVOLUTION 

'1T7E  seem  to  exist  in  a  hazardous  time, 
Driftin'  along  here  through  space  ; 
Nobody  knows  just  when  we  begun 

Or  how  fur  we  've  gone  in  the  race. 
Scientists  argy  we're  shot  from  the  sun, 

While  others  we  're  goin'  right  back, 
An*  some  say  we've  allers  been  here  more  or  less, 

An1  seem  to  establish  the  fact. 
O'  course  'at's  somepin'  'at  nobody  knows, 

As  far  as  I  've  read  or  cun  see ; 
An'  them  as  does  know  all  about  the  hull  scheme, 

Why,  none  of  'em  never  agree. 

Now,  why  I  think  it  's  a  perilous  time, — 
What  do  we  know  'bout  them  spots 

Up  there  on  that  glorious  orb  of  the  day  ? 
Smart  men  has  argyed  an'  lots 

Of  the  brainiest  folks  has  been  cypherin'  out, 
An'  all  sorts  of  stones  has  riz 

5 


Evolution 

'Bout  what  the  sun  's  made  of  or  how  it 's  composed, 

An*  lots  of  'em  think  that  it  is. 
O'  course  'at 's  somepin'  'at  nobody  knows— 

Nobody  under  the  sun  ; 
Nary  a  body  or  bein',  I  s'pose; 

Nary  a  bein'  but  One. 

Take  Eva  Lution,  an'  what  does  she  say 

'Bout  how  we  all  sprung  from  a  ape  ? 
An'  there's  the  goriller  and  big  chimpanzee, 

Patterned  exactly  our  shape. 
An*  I've  seen  some  folks,  an'  I  guess  so  have  you, 

An'  it  ain't  none  of  our  bizness  neither, 
That  actually  looked  like  they  sprung  from  a  ape, 

An'  did  n't  have  fur  to  spring  either. 
Course  'at 's  somepin  'at  every  one  knows ; 

I  don't  see  how  you  folks  can  doubt  it ; 
S'posin'  they  have  some  resemblance  to  us, 

No  use  in  a-writin'  about  it. 

If  a  feller  '11  take  a  geology  book 

An'  not  go  a  rushin'  long  through  it, 
But  jes'  sort  o'  figger  the  thing  out  hisself — 

What  I  mean  is :   'ply  hisself  to  it — 
He'll  see  we  've  dug  up  folks  ten  thousand  years  old, 

Built  on  a  ponderous  plan  ; 
6 


Evolution 

Somehow  this  knocks  Mr.  Moses  all  out, 

An'  Adam,  the  biblical  man. 
O'  course  'at  's  somepin  'at  nobody  knows, 

Nobody  under  the  sun  ; 
Nary  a  body  or  bein'  I  s'pose, 

Nary  a  bein'  but  One. 


GEDDER  IN  YO'  GRAIN 

TT*\E  ole  plow  hoss  is  busy 
•*^Breshin'  flies  off  wid  his  tail, 
De  ole  dog's  got  a  move  on  him 
Dat's  zackly  like  a  snail. 
De  meddeh  grass  is  noddin' 
En  off  yondah  in  de  lane 
I  kin  hyar  de  tree  toads  warnin' 
"Bettah  gedder  in  yo'  grain." 

Doan  yo'  hyar  de  frogs  a-gurglin*     * 
Dar  out  yondah  in  de  pond  ? 
What's  de  mattah  wid  de  catbird, 
Doan  yo'  hyar  his  voice  respond  ? 
Ain't  de  hull  of 'em  a-tellin'  yo' 
In  language  mighty  plain, 
"Doan  be  frivlin'  way  yo'  moments, 
Bettah  gedder  in  yo'  grain." 

Ain't  de  bumble  bee  a-hummin' 
'Mongst  de  clovah  tops  an'  flowahs, 
8 


Gedder  in  Yo'  Grain 

Whilst  de  ole  clock  am  a-tickinj  'way 
De  minutes  an  de  houahs  ? 
Chile,  yo's  got  to  be  a-hus'lin' 
To  ketch  de  wisdom  train. 
Doan  waste  no  opportunities, 
But  gedder  in  yo'  grain. 


JANE  JONES 

JANE  JONES  keeps  talkin'  to  me  all  the  time, 
An'  says  you  must  make  it  a  rule 
To  study  your  lessons  'nd  work  hard  'nd  learn, 
An'  never  be  absent  from  school. 
Remember  the  story  of  Elihu  Burritt, 
An'  how  he  clum  up  to  the  top, 
Got  all  the  knowledge  'at  he  ever  had 
Down  in  a  blacksmithing  shop  ? 
Jane  Jones  she  honestly  said  it  was  so! 
Mebbe  he  did — 

I  dunno  ! 

O'  course  what's  a-keepin'  me  'way  from  the  top, 
Is  not  never  havin'  no  blacksmithing  shop. 

She  said  'at  Ben  Franklin  was  awfully  poor, 
But  full  of  ambition  an'  brains ; 
An'  studied  philosophy  all  his  hull  life, 
An'  see  what  he  got  for  his  pains  ! 
Fie  brought  electricity  out  of  the  sky, 
With  a  kite  an'  a  bottle  an'  key, 
10 


Jane  Jones 

An'  we're  owing  him  more'n  any  one  else 
For  all  the  bright  lights  'at  we  see. 
Jane  Tones  she  honestly  said  it  was  so  ! 
Mebbe  he  did — 

I  dunno ! 

O'  course  what's  allers  been  hinderin'  me 
Is  not  havin'  any  kite,  lightning,  er  key. 

Jane  Jones  said  Abe  Lincoln  had  no  books  at  all 
An'  used  to  split  rails  when  a  boy  ; 
An'  General  Grant  was  a  tanner  by  trade 
An'  lived  way  out  in  Ill'nois. 
So  when  the  great  war  in  the  South  first  broke  out 
He  stood  on  the  side  o'  the  right, 
An*  when  Lincoln  called  him  to  take  charge  o'  things, 
He  won  nearly  every  blamed  fight. 
Jane  Jones  she  honestly  said  it  was  so  ! 
Mebbe  he  did — 

I  dunno  ! 

Still  I  ain't  to  blame,  not  by  a  big  sight, 
For  I  ain't  never  had  any  battles  to  fight. 

She  said  'at  Columbus  was  out  at  the  knees 
When  he  first  thought  up  his  big  scheme, 
An'  told  all  the  Spaniards  'nd  Italians,  too, 
An'  all  of 'em  said  'twas  a  dream. 
13 


Jane  Jones 

But  Queen  Isabella  jest  listened  to  him, 
'Nd  pawned  all  her  jewels  o'  worth, 
JNd  bought  him  the  Santa  Maria  'nd  said, 
"Go  hunt  up  the  rest  oj  the  earth  !" 
Jane  Jones  she  honestly  said  it  was  so  ! 
Mebbe  he  did—- 

I  dunno  ! 

O'  course  that  may  be,  but  then  you  must  allow 
They  ain't  no  land  to  discover  jest  now  ! 


ELOPEMENT 

T  'M  out  at  the  home  of  my  Mary, 
•"•      Mary  so  young  and  so  fair, 
But  her  father  and  mother 
And  sister  and  brother 

And  all  of  the  family  are  there. 

I  'm  now  on  the  sofa  with  Mary, 
Mary  with  bright,  golden  hair; 

But  her  father  and  mother 

And  sister  and  brother 

And  all  of  the  family  are  there. 

I  'm  way  up  the  river  with  Mary, 
Picnicking  in  the  cool  air; 

But  her  father  and  mother 

And  sister  and  brother 

And  all  of  the  family  are  there. 

I  'm  in  the  surf  bathing  with  Mary; 
Her  form  is  beyond  compare; 


Elopement 

But  her  father  and  mother 
And  sister  and  brother 

And  all  of  the  family  are  there. 

I  'm  down  at  the  parson's  with  Mary; 

It 's  rather  a  private  affair; 
But  her  father  and  mother 
And  sister  and  brother 

"Well — none  of  the  family  is  there. 


HER  FOLKS  AN'  HIZ'N 

TLTE  maird  her  'cause  she  had  money  an'  some 

Property  left  from  'er  husband's  income; 
But  both  of  the  families  was  awfully  stirred, 
An'  said  the  worst  things  'at  the  town  ever  heard. 

En  her  folks  an*  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other, 

From  what  I  can  learn. 

His  folks  begun  it  an'  jest  said  'at  she 

Was  the  worst  actin'  thing  they  ever  did  see; 

An'  ought  to  be  ashamed  fer  bein'  so  bold, 

'Cause  her  husband  he  had  n't  had  time  to  get  cold. 

En  her  folks  an'  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other, 

From  what  I  can  learn. 

Her  folks  they  all  set  up  'at  he  was  no  good, 

An'  if 'twas  n't  for  her — well,  he'd  have  to  saw  wood. 

17 


Her  Folks  An'  Hiz'n 

Then  all  of  her  kin,  every  blasted  relation, 
Said  she'd  lowered  herself  in  their  estimation. 

So  her  folks  an'  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other, 

From  what  I  can  learn. 

The  sisters  they  told — this  is  'tween  you  and  I — 
'At  they  thought  she  wanted  her  husband  to  die: 
An'  they  whispered  around  —  but  don't  you  lisp  a 

word — 
The  awfulest  things  that  a  soul  ever  heard. 

So  her  folks  an'  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other, 

From  what  I  can  learn. 

They  said  that  a  travelin'  man  er  a  drummer, 
Who  stopped  at  the  hotel  a  long  time  last  summer, 
That  he — no  it  wasn't  that  now — let  me  see — 
That  she — er  something  like  that,  seems  to  me. 

Well,  her  folks  an'  hiz'n, 

Er  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  spoke  to  each  other, 

From  what  I  can  learn. 


18 


Her  Folks  An'  Hiz'n 

I  hear  'at  the  families  keep  up  the  old  fight, 
A-roastin'  each  other  from  mornin'  till  night; 
But  the  young  maird  couple  they  '  ve  moved  to  the  city, 
Where  gossip  do  n't  go;  but  I  think  it  a  pity 

That  her  folks  an'  hiz'n, 

An'  hiz'n  an'  her'n, 

Never  speak  to  each  other, 

From  what  I  can  learn. 


THE  TALLER  JACKETS'  NEST 


I 


F  I  could  only  wander  back 

To  boyhood  jest  one  day, 
So'st'  I  could  have  my  chice  agin 

Of  games  we  used  to  play, 
I  'd  let  the  kites  an'  marbles  go, 

An'  say,  "  Come  on,  boys  !  let 's 
All  go  out  a-huntin'  fer 

The  yaller  jackets'  nest." 

Jest  to  lay  up  in  the  shadder 

Of  the  fence  once  agin 
Of  the  old  vacant  lot 

'At  the  cows  pastured  in, 
Where  the  dandelions  were  bloomin', 

'N  there  take  a  rest, 
While  you  listen  to  the  music 

'Round  the  yaller  jackets'  nest. 

There  was  one  'at  allers  went  along 
An'  romped  with  us  'n  raced, 

20 


The  Yaller  Jackets'  Nest 

With  her  sun-bonnet  a-hangin'  back 
'N  curls  down  to  'er  waist, 

In  the  checkered  little  frock  she  wore 
Of  gingham, — what  a  pest 

She  was  to  us  when  huntin'  fer 
The  yaller  jackets'  nest. 

It 's  the  prime  of  the  blossoms 

'At 's  a-hangin'  from  the  trees 
An'  the  music  of  the  buzzin* 

'At  brings  lonesome  memories, 
Fer  it  seems  as  if  I  heerd  her  say 

"You  better  look  out,  lest 
They  all  swarm  out  and  sting  yeh 

From  the  yaller  jackets'  nest." 

Sometimes  I  think  I  hear  'er  voice 

An'  see  'er  eyes  of  blue, 
That  borried  all  their  color  from 

The  sky  'at  peeks  at  you 
Between  the  clouds  in  summer 

After  rain  has  fell  an'  blessed 
The  flowers  an'  openin'  blossoms 

'Round  the  yaller  jackets'  nest. 


HOW  OFTEN 

'IP HEY  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, 

In  a  park  not  far  from  town ; 
They  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight 
Because  they  did  n't  sit  down. 

The  moon  rose  o'er  the  city 

Behind  the  dark  church  spire ; 

The  moon  rose  o'er  the  city 
And  kept  on  rising  higher. 

How  often,  oh  !  how  often 

They  whispered  words  so  soft ; 

How  often,  oh  !  how  often, 
How  often,  oh!  how  oft. 


24 


BENTON  HARBOR,  MICH. 

OOMETIMES  I  ain't  a  thing  to  do,  an'  so  jist  for 

the  nonce, 
I    think    of    things    I    did  n't    see   out  on  Midway 

Plaisance. 
Although   they  claimed   'at    every  tribe  an'   nation, 

seems  to  me, 
Was  represented,  yit  there  's  some   I  simply  did  n't 

see. 
I  went  all  through  the  Cairo  Street,  an'  saw  the  Luxor 

great, 
I  saw  the  South  Sea  Islanders  an'  them  from  Congo 

State, 

I  saw  the  Patagonians,  but,  durn  it  all,  my  wish 
Was  more  to  see  them  funny  folks  from 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich. 

I  took  in  all  the  bildin's  that  was  prom'nent  on  the 

grounds, 
Got  in  with  a  C'lumbian  guard  and  we  jist  went  the 

rounds. 

25 


Benton  Harbor,  Mich. 

I  says  to  him,    "I  'm  here  this  week  to  take  the  hull 

thing  in ; 

I  might  not  git  a  chance  to  go  against  the  thing  agin. 
Outside  o'  horterculture  an*  some  o'  the  smaller  fruits 
I  want  to  see  them  Wolverines  at 's  still  a-wearin' 

boots. 

So  don'  show  me  no  minin'  er  animals  er  fish, 
I  'd  rather  see  them  curios  from 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich." 

What  d'  I  care  for  foreign  folks  'at  come  from  pagan 

lands  ? 
I  've  heerd  an'   read  enough  of  Paig,  an'  heerd  the 

tom-tom  bands. 
I  've  seen  enough  of  Egypt,  'n  Algiers,  'nd  ancient 

Rome, 
An'  now  I  'in  jist  a-spilin'  for  somepin'  right  'round 

home. 
Why,  gosh  all  Friday  !     Take  yer  Turks  an'  all  yer 

foreign  kit, 
I  want  to  see  them  Wolverines,  an'  I  ain't  seen  'em 

yit; 
Old   Michigan  I  'm  after;  seems  as  if  I  heerd  the 

swish 
Of  breakers  like  I  used  to  in 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich. 
26 


Benton  Harbor,  Mich. 

So  comin'  out  from  there  I  says,  '<  We  '11  take  another 

route ; 
Course  you  may  know  your  bizness,  but  I  know  what 

I  'm  about. 
I  'm  on  a  hunt   fer    friends  jist    now,   not  Japs    er 

Javanese, 
Or    sore-eyed    Esquimaux,   er    Coons,   er   bias-eyed 

Chinese. 
I  've  heerd  enough  of  'Hot !  hot !  hot !'  got  frightened 

at  the  roar 
'Round  Hagenbeck's,  an*  shook  hands  with  the  Sultan 

of  Johore, 
Until    I  'm    simply    tired    out,    an'    now    my    only 

wish 
Is  jist  to  see  them  old-time  folks  from 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich." 

I  walked   till  I  got   dusty   an'   thought   I  'd  like  to 

wash, 
When  lookin'  up  I  saw  a  tower — 'twas  Michigan, 

by  gosh  ! 
"Come  on,"  I  says,  "I'll   show   you  now  some 

folks  you  never  saw, 
Human  bein's  from  Muskegon,  Dowagiac,  an'  Sagi- 

naw; 

27 


Benton  Harbor,  Mich. 

Them  folks  'at  raises  celery  'way  out  in  Kal'mazoo, 

Cassopolis,  an'  Globeville,  an'  Ypsilanti,  too — 

St.   Joe  an*    Berrien    Centre."      I  guess  I   got  my 

wish, 
I  jined  the  jays  an'  we  went  back  to 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich, 


ASPHODEL 

/BAREST  thou  naught  for  me,  lone  Asphodel  ? 
^^Oh,  flower  !     Shall  all  the  summer  days  long  gone 
Roll  into  space  remembered  not  ?     What  spell, 
Nay,  more,  what  dream,  what  fantasy  is  this  ? 
E'en  one  small  hour  to  gaze  and  love.      'Tis  bliss 
Like  Gyges  knew  behind  the  chamber  door 
In  days  of  old.      Those  mellow  days  of  yore. 

Ah,  no,  sweet  flower,  say  not  farewell,  I  pray  ; 
But  let  thine  odor  loiter  yet  a  while, 
And  linger  thou  beside  my  lonely  way, 
Spreading  thy  perfume.      And  each  tender  leaf, 
Sparkling  with  dew,  like  tears  in  eyes  of  grief ; 
Eager  am  I  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  stem, 
To  have  thee  near,  and  in  thy  fragrance  dwell, 
Trusting  thee  ever,  fairy  Asphodel. 


29 


Benton  Harbor,  Mich. 

Them  folks  'at  raises  celery  »Way  Out  in  Kal'mazoo, 

Cassopolis,  an'  Globeville,  an'  Ypsilanti,  too — 

St.   Joe  an*    Berrien    Centre."      I  guess  I   got  my 

wish, 
I  jined  the  jays  an'  we  went  back  to 

Benton  Harbor,  Mich, 


ASPHODEL 

BAREST  thou  naught  for  me,  lone  Asphodel  ? 
^Oh,  flower  !     Shall  all  the  summer  days  long  gone 
Roll  into  space  remembered  not  ?     What  spell, 
Nay,  more,  what  dream,  what  fantasy  is  this  ? 
E'en  one  small  hour  to  gaze  and  love.      'Tis  bliss 
Like  Gyges  knew  behind  the  chamber  door 
In  days  of  old.     Those  mellow  days  of  yore. 

Ah,  no,  sweet  flower,  say  not  farewell,  I  pray  ; 
But  let  thine  odor  loiter  yet  a  while, 
And  linger  thou  beside  my  lonely  way, 
Spreading  thy  perfume.      And  each  tender  leaf, 
Sparkling  with  dew,  like  tears  in  eyes  of  grief; 
Eager  am  I  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  stem, 
To  have  thee  near,  and  in  thy  fragrance  dwell, 
Trusting  thee  ever,  fairy  Asphodel. 


THE  FLOWERS'  BALL 


is  an  olden  story, 
'Tis  a  legend,  so  I'm  told, 
How  the  flowerets  gave  a  banquet, 

In  the  ivied  days  of  old; 
How  the  posies  gave  a  party  once 

That  wound  up  with  a  ball, 
How  they  held  it  in  a  valley, 

Down  in  "Flowery  Kingdom  Hall. 

The  flowers  of  every  clime  were  there, 

Of  high  and  low  degree, 
All  with  their  petals  polished, 

In  sweet  aromatic  glee. 
They  met  down  in  this  woodland 

In  the  soft  and  ambient  air, 
Each  in  its  lolling  loveliness, 

Exhaled  a  perfume  rare. 

An  orchestra  of  Blue  Bells 
Sat  upon  a  mossy  knoll 
30 


The  Flowers'  Ball 

And  pealed  forth  gentle  music 
That  quite  captured  every  soul. 

The  Holly  hocked  a  pistil 
Just  to  buy  a  suit  of  clothes, 

And  danced  with  all  the  flowerets 
But  the  modest,  blushing  Rose. 

The  Morning  Glory  shining 

Seemed  reflecting  all  the  glow 
Of  dawn,  and  took  a  partner  ; 

It  was  young  Miss  Mistletoe. 
Miss  Maggie  Nolia  from  the  South 

Danced  with  Forget-me-not  ; 
Sweet  William  took  Miss  Pink  in  tow 

And  danced  a  slow  gavotte. 

Thus  everything  went  swimmingly 

'  Mongst  perfumed  belles  and  beaux, 
And  every  floweret  reveled  save 

The  modest,  blushing  Rose. 
Miss  Fuchsia  sat  around  and  told 

For  floral  emulation, 
That  she  had  actually  refused 

To  dance  with  A.  Carnation. 


The  Flowers'  Ball 

The  Coxcomb,  quite  a  dandy  there, 

Began  to  pine  and  mope, 
Until  he  had  been  introduced 

To  young  Miss  Heliotrope. 
Sir  Cactus  took  Miss  Lily, 

And  he  swung  her  so  about 
She  asked  Sweet  Pea  to  Cauliflower 

And  put  the  Cactus  out. 

Miss  Pansy  took  her  Poppy 

And  she  waltzed  him  down  the  line 
Till  they  ran  against  old  Sunflower 

With  Miss  Honeysuckle  Vine. 
The  others  at  the  party  that 

Went  whirling  through  the  mazy 
Were  the  Misses  Rhodo  Dendron, 

Daffodil  and  little  Daisy. 

Miss  Petunia,  Miss  Verbena,  Violet, 

And  sweet  Miss  Dahlia 
Came  fashionably  late,  arrayed 

In  very  rich  regalia. 
Miss  Begonia,  sweet  Miss  Buttercup, 

Miss  Lilac  and  Miss  Clover  ; 
Young  Dandelion  came  in  late 

When  all  the  feast  was  over. 
32 


The  Flowers'  Ball 

The  only  flower  that  sent  regrets 

And  really  could  n't  come, 
Who  lived  in  the  four  hundred,  was 

The  vain  Chrysanthemum. 
One  floweret  at  the  table 

Grew  quite  ill,  we  must  regret, 
And  every  posy  wondered,  too, 

Just  what  Miss  Mignonette. 

Young  Tulip  chose  Miss  Orchid 

From  the  first,  and  did  not  part 
With  her  until  Miss  Mary  Gold 

Fell  with  a  Bleeding  Heart. 
But  ah  !      Miss  Rose  sat  pensively 

Till  every  young  bud  passed  her  j 
When  just  to  fill  the  last  quadrille, 

The  little  China  Aster. 


33 


DE  SUN'S  COMIN'  BACK 

TTUSH!  chillun,  hush! 

Kase  de  sun's  done  come  back  agin, 
Back  agin  a-shinin'  on  de  ole  cypress  tree; 

Hush  !  chillun,  hush  ! 
Hit  shuahly  am  a  fac'  agin, 
De  sun's  done  come  back  agin, 
Back  agin  to  me. 

Hush  !  chillun,  hush  ! 

Foh  de  sun's  done  come  back  agin, 
Pushin'  yaller  glory  roun'  in  ebbery  spot  it  finds, 

Dancin'  on  de  cradle 

An'  eld  Chloe  wid  de  ladle, 

An'  coaxin'  out  de  blossoms  on 
De  honeysuckle  vines. 

Hush  !  chillun,  hush  ! 
Kase  de  sof  winds  come  back  agin, 
Back  agin,  a-bringin'  all  de  glory  ob  de  spring ; 

34 


De  SunV  Comin'  Back 

My  heart's  jes'  a-throbbin* 
For  off  yondah  is  de  robin, 
An*  de  blackbird  am  a-cluckin* 
An*  I  'low  I  heerd  'im  sing. 

Hush  !  chillun,  hush  ! 

Kase  de  sun's  done  come  back  agin, 
Bringin'  back  de  fac*  agin  I  'se  gittin'  mighty  old; 

I  often  sit  and  pondah, 

An*  I  wondah,  an*  I  wondah, 

How  many  times  it 's  comin'  back 
Befo'  I  reach  de  fold. 


35 


THE  RIVER  ST.  JOE 

X  If  7HERE  the  bumblebee  sips  and  the  clover  is  red, 
And  the  zephyrs  come  laden  with  peachblow 
perfume, 

Where  the  thistle-down  pauses  in  search  of  the  rose 
And  the  myrtle  and  woodbine  and  wild  ivy  grows ; 
Where  the  catbird  pipes  up  and  it  sounds  most  divine 
Off  there  in  the  branches  of  some  lonely  pine  ; 
Oh,  give  me  the  spot  that  I  once  used  to  know 
By  the  side  of  the  placid  old  River  St.  Joe  ! 

How  oft  on  its  banks  I  have  sunk  in  a  dream, 
Where  the  willows  bent  over  me  kissing  the  stream, 
My  boat  with  its  nose  sort  of  resting  on  shore, 
While  the  cat-tails  stood  guarding  a  runaway  oar ; 
It  appeared  like  to  me,  that  they  sort  of  had  some 
Way  of  knowing  that  I  would  soon  get  overcome, 
With  the  meadow  lark  singing  just  over  the  spot 
I  did  n't  care  whether  I  floated  or  not — 
Just  resting  out  there  for  an  hour  or  so 
On  the  banks  of  the  tranquil  old  River  St.  Joe. 
36 


The  River  St.  Joe 

Where  the  tall  grasses  nod  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
And  the  sycamore's  shadow  is  slanting  away — 
Where  the  whip-poor-will  chants  from  a  far  distant 

limb 

Just  as  if  the  whole  business  was  all  made  for  him. 
Oh!  it 's  now  that  my  thoughts,  flying  back  on  the 

wings 

Of  the  rail  and  the  die-away  song  that  he  sings, 
Brings  the  tears  to  my  eyes  that  drip  off  into  rhyme, 
And  I  live  once  again  in  the  old  summer  time  ; 
For  my  soul  it  seems  caught  in  old  time's  under-tow 
And  I  'm  floating  away  down  the  River  St.  Joe. 


39 


BABY  UP  AT  BATTENBERG'S 

TTEERD  'bout  what 's  happened  ? 

Why  o*  course  ye  has ; 
Baby  up  at  Battenberg's, 
Hope  it  tain  't  the  las'  ! 

Doctor  come  at  eight  o'clock, 
Rig  all  spleshed  with  clay ; 
Dad  a  trampin'  up  the  hall, 
Skeery  ? — I  sh'd  say  ! 

Kind  o'  still  'roan'  the  house, 
Folks  on  tiptoe  walk 
Tell  the  door  is  open 
An*  we  hear  a  squawk  ! 

Doctor  whispers  suthin* — 
Daddy  hollers :  "No!" 
Doctor  says,  "Twelve  pounder!'* 
Daddy  whoops  out :   "  Sho  !  " 

Daddy — happier  'n  a  clam  ! 
Mother  doin'  well ; 
Baby  up  at  Battenberg's, 
Haven't  ye  heerd  tell  ? 

Upon  the  death  of  the  late  Lord  Tennyson,  Mr.  King  fancied  him 
self  an  applicant  for  the  position  of  Poet  Laureate  and  produced  this 
poem  as  his  recommendation  to  the  Appointing  Power. 

40 


NO  HARM  DONE 

EXCUSE  me,  Mr.  Handy,  for  a-droppin'  you  a 
line, 
But  the  fact  is,   I  've  arrived  in   town   and  feelin' 

mighty  fine  ; 
*  'm  stoppin*  at  the  Press  Club,  er  that 's  where  I 

take  my  meals, 

An*  I  must  say  I  'm  agitatin'  some  colossal  deals ; 
But  what  I  want  to  ask  you  is,  'at  seems  a-botherin' 

me, 
Is  your  hippodrome  at  Jackson  Park,  that 's  what  I 

want  to  see  ; 

I  M  lay  all  careful  pains  aside  an*  wear  a  steady  grin 
*F  I  thought  'at  you  could  work  some  scheme 

Of  gittin'  of  me  in. 
Course,  if  you  say  they  is  n't, 

I  '11  say  I 's  just  in  fun, 
An'  we  '11  just  let  it  go  at  that — 
They  's  no  harm  done. 


No  Harm  Done 

Say,  Handy,  what  I  want  is  so  's  I  can  push  my  phiz 
All   'round   the   hull   World's   Fair  grounds  an  see 

everything  they  is, 
An*  when  a  C'lumbian  guard  comes  up  unmannerly 

and  gruff, 
I  '11  flash  the  pass  you  give  me,  Handy,  that  Ml  be 

enough, 

An'  passin'  on  an'  mirrorin'  my  face  in  the  lagoon 
Where   that   fellow  is  a-standin' — now  what 's    his 

name  ? — Neptune. 
I  want  to  see  you,  Major,  yes,  I  want  to  grasp  your 

fin, 
'Cause  I  know  'at  you  could  work  some  scheme 

Of  gittin'  of  me  in. 
Course,  if  you  say  they  is  n't, 

I  Ml  say  I 's  just  in  fun, 
An*  we  Ml  just  let  it  go  at  that — 
They  's  no  harm  done. 

I  want  to  see  the  state  buildin's  an'  all  ther'  is  there, 
I  want  to  see  that  queer  machine  that  turns  out  com 
pressed  air, 

Th*  Administration  Buildin'  an'  th'  Agricultural  Hall — 
I  tell  you,  Major,  honesMy,  I  want  to  see  it  all. 
I  Ml  be  alone  mos*  of  the  time  an*  nothin'  *s  goin*  to 
please 

42 


No  Harm  Done 

Me  better  than  to  get  acquainted  with  those  Javanese. 
Don't  say  a  word!     Say,  Handy,  I  must  brace  you 

agin: 
Is  they  any  possibility 

Of  gittin'  of  me  in  ? 
Course,  if  you  say  they  is  n't, 

I  '11  say  I  's  just  in  fun, 
An*  we  '11  just  let  it  go  at  that— 
They  's  no  harm  done. 

I  've  read   the   weekly   papers,   Major,    out    at    old 

St.  Joe, 
They  ain't  been  nothin*  in  'em  'at  the  country  folks 

don't  know. 
Some  wants  to  see  machinery,  some  paintin's,  an' 

some  fish, 
Some  want  to  hear  the  music,  too,  but  I  tell  you  my 

wish 
Is  just  to  see  them  foreign  girls  from  Spain  an'  sunny 

France, 
An'  Abdul  Something,  what-'s-his-name,  that  's  got 

them  girls  'at  dance 
Out   there  in   Midway  Plaisance,  an'  the  Sultan  an' 

his  kin. 

Oh,  Handy,  you  must  fix  some  scheme 
Of  gittin'  of  me  in. 
43 


No  Harm  Done 

Course,  if  you  say  they  is  n't, 
I  '11  say  I 's  just  in  fun, 

An*  we  '11  just  let  it  go  at  that- 
They  's  no  harm  done. 


THE  FATES 

T^ORTUNE  came  to  a  youth  one  day  and  dressed 

'im 
Up  in  his  best.      While  Society  smiled  and  caressed 

'im, 

Along  came  Toil  with  a  hammer  and  saw  to  test  'im — 
And  all  three  pressed  'im. 

Manhood  came,  as  it  usually  does,  to  beard  'im; 
Virtue  stole  in  and  sat  by  his  side,  but  feared  'im; 
Ambition  came  with  wonderful  schemes  and  steered 
'im— 

But  all  three  queered  'im. 

Wisdom  came  and  knocked  at  his  door  ;  he  spurned 

'im. 

Frivolity  came  on  bicycle  wheels  and  turned  'im; 
Remorse  at  last  came  up  and  stung  'im  and  burned 
'im— 

And  all  three  churned  'im. 
45 


The  Fates 

Poverty  opened  his  door  and  found  'im  and  sought 

'im  ; 
Paralysis,  crouched  in   a   corner,   had   finally  caught 

'im  ; 

Idleness  claimed  the  prize  because  she  'd  taught  'im — 
But  all  three  got  'im. 

Old  Charon  rowed  up  in  Time's  canoe  and  ferried  'im 
Over  the  creek,  when  an  undertaker  hurried  'im, 
Dropped  sand  on  his  box,  while  a  parson  talked  and 
worried  'im — 

But  the  whole  crowd  buried  'im. 


PARAPHRASE 

E  master  of  the  manor  house  each  morn 
Upon  his  shining  steed  through  arbored  gates 
Rides  forth  and  out  upon  the  dusty  road 
To  yon  small  hamlet  smiling  on  the  hill. 
At  eve  rides  back  with  swaying  form  ;  he  meets 
The  faithful  footman,  and,  his  charger  placed, 
He  wends  his  way  into  the  mansion  hall, 
While  I,  down  here  in  meadow  lands  all  day, 
I  only  s-s-stack  the  hay. 

The  opulent  lord  when  mellow  days  are  come, 
At  the  high  note  of  the  red-combed  chanticleer, 
With  horse  and  hound  and  merry  crowd  now  bent 
Upon  the  chase.      Swift  through  fox-scented  roads, 
Stopping,  perchance,  at  many  a  wayside  inn, 
The  music  of  the  jingling  glass  is  his, 
While  I  down  here  in  perfumed  clover  fields, 
Hear  but  the  music  of  the  lark  and  jay. 
I  only  s-s-stack  the  hay. 

47 


Paraphrase 

Lone  is  the  mansion  on  the  sunlit  hill, 

Save  for  the  daughter  of  the  chivalric  lord, 

Who    comes    now,     finger-kissed     by     high-topped 

sheaves 

(Pausing  the  while,  half  startled  by  the  quail) 
To  where  the  haycocks  dot  the  sallow  fields ; 
Comes  in  the  roseate  flush  of  maidenhood  ; 
Comes  with  a  truant  smile  upon  her  lips, 
And  romping  up  to  me  exclaiming:   "Say!" 
B-b-but  I — I  only  s-s-stack  the  hay. 

Then  spake  she  soft  as  runs  a  summer  brook 
Or  novel  of  some  scribe  of  amorous  mind  : 
"  How  far  the  huntsmen  must  be  on  the  road, 
Because  the  sun  comes  through  my  window-blind ; 
Within — strange    creakings   'bout    the    halls :    with 
out — 

The  scurrying  leaves.      So  lonely  am  I  now 
I've  wandered  here  to  ask  whatever  betide. 
V/ouldst   cease   thy   work  ?     Pray,  must  you  toil 

to-day?" 

"  W-w-well,  yes,"  Is-s-say,  "I have t-t-to  s-s-stack 
the  hay." 

"  Ah,  sir  !  "   she  then  replied  :   "A  banquet  spread 
But  yesternight  for  me  with  many  guests 
48 


Paraphrase 

And  suitors  gathered  'round  the  festal  board 
Sought  ardently  my  hand  ;  and  one  forth  brought 
A  golden  cup  in  memory  of  my  birth. 
Yea,  each  in  quest  of  all  these  lands.      Kind  sir, 
How  now  ;    wouldst  thou  not  drink    from  out   my 

cup  ? 
Prithee,   come   solace   me  !       Live    while    you  live, 

for  aye." 
"  I  c-c-ca-ca-can't,"  I  s-s-say.    "  I  have  to  s-s-stacl 

the  hay." 

The  days  roll  on  and  now  a  blase  youth 
Rides  by  the  manor  house.      A  reaper  he 
In  wisdom's  fields.      No  importuning  maid 
Bade  him  alight.      She  beckons.      Quick  he  opes 
The  gates,  and,  hastening  to  the  banquet  halls, 
He  drinks  to  her,  and,  pledging  endless  love, 
They  fly  to  distant  parish.      Now  the  hills 
And  vales  and  lands  that  roll  away  are  his. 
While  I,  down  here  in  meadow-lands  all  day, 
I  only  s-s-stack  the  hay. 


49 


IF  I  CAN  BE  BY  HER 

T  D-D-DO  N'Tc-c-c-are  how  the  r-r-r-obin  sings, 

Er  how  the  r-r-r-ooster  f-f-flaps  his  wings, 
Er  whether  't  sh-sh-shines,  er  whether  't  pours, 
Er  how  high  up  the  eagle  s-s-soars, 
If  I  can  b-b-b-be  by  her. 

I  don't  care  if  the  p-p-p-people  s-say 
'At  I  'm  weak-minded  every-w-way, 
An'  n-n-never  had  no  cuh-common  sense, 
I  'd  c-c-c-cuh-climb  the  highest  p-picket  fence 
If  I  could  b-b-b-be  by  her. 

If  I  can  be  by  h-h-her,  I  '11  s-s-swim 
The  r-r-r-est  of  life  thro'  th-th-thick  an'  thin  ; 
I  '11  throw  my  overcoat  away, 
An'  s-s-s-stand  out  on  the  c-c-c-oldest  day, 
If  I  can  b-b-b-be  by  her. 

You  s-s-see  sh-sh-she  weighs  an  awful  pile, 
B-b-b-but  I  d-d-d-do  n't  care — sh-she  's  just  my  style, 

50 


'  If  f£an  Be  By  Her 

An'  any  f-f-fool  could  p-p-p-lainly  see 
She  'd  look  well  b-b-b-by  the  side  of  me, 
If  I  could  b-b-b-be  by  her. 

I  b-b-b-braccd  right  up,  and  had  the  s-s-s-and 

To  ask  'er  f-f-f-father  f-f-fer  'er  hand  ; 

He   said:     "  Wh-wh-what  p-p-prospects  have   you 

got?" 

I  said  :   "  I  gu-gu-guess  I  've  got  a  lot, 
If  I  can  b-b-b-be  by  her." 

It  *s  all  arranged  f-f-fer  Christmas  Day, 

Fer  then  we  're  goin'  to  r-r-r-run  away, 

An'  then  s-s-some  th-th-thing  that  cu-cu-couldn't  be 

At  all  b-b-efore  will  then,  you  s-s-see, 

B-b-b-because  I'll  b-b-b-be  by  her. 


53 


TOBOGGAN 

TP\OWN  from  the  hills  and  over  the  snow 
*~^      Swift  as  a  meteor's  flash  we  go, 

Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 
Down  from  the  hills  with  our  senses  lost, 
Jealous  of  cheeks  that  are  kissed  by  the  frost, 

Toboggan  !      Toboggan  !      Toboggan  ! 

With  snow  piled  high  on  housetop  and  hill, 
O'er  frozen  rivulet,  river,  and  rill, 
Clad  in  her  jacket  of  sealskin  and  fur, 
Down  from  the  hills  I  'm  sliding  with  her, 
Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !  •    Toboggan  ! 

Down  from  the  hills,  what  an  awful  speed  ! 
As  if  on  the  back  of  a  frightened  steed, 

Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 
Down  from  the  hills  at  the  rise  of  the  moon, 
Merrily  singing  the  toboggan  tune, 

"  Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !  " 

54 


Toboggan 

Down  from  the  hills  like  an  arrow  we  fly, 
Or  a  comet  that  whizzes  along  through  the  sky; 
Down  from  the  hills  !     Oh,  is  n't  it  grand  ! 
Clasping  your  best  winter  girl  by  the  hand, 
Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 

Down  from  the  hills  and  both  growing  old, 
Down  from  the  hills  we  are  nearing  the  fold: 

Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 
Close  to  the  homestead  we  hear  the  ring 
Of  children's  voices  that  cheerily  sing, 

««  Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan !  " 

Down  from  the  hills  and  we  hear  the  chime 
Of  bells  that  ai'e  ringing  out  Old  Father  Time; 
Down  from  the  hills  we  are  riding  away, 
Nearing  the  life  with  its  endless  day; 

Toboggan  !     Toboggan  !     Toboggan  ! 


55 


DE  BUGLE  ON  DE  HILL 

T  DOAN  like  de  noise  ob  de  marchin'  ob  de  boys, 

An'  I  'low  doan  s'pose  I  evah  will ; 
Er  de  trampin'  ob  de  feet  to  de  drum's  wild  beat, 

Er  de  sound  ob  de  bugle  on  de  hill. 
Hit  'minds  me  ob  de  day  when  Gabe  marched  away 

En  ole  mnsus  stood  beside  de  cabin  do' ; 
Somepin'  whispahed  in  my  ear  'bout  my  little  vol 
unteer, 

An*  said  he  nevah  will  come  back  no  mo'. 

I  'membah  now  de  day  jes'  how  he  marched  away, 

Wid  de  bright  surt  er  climbin'  up  de  sky, 
Marched  out  en  down  de  street  to  de  drum's   wild 

beat, 

Den  dey  fetched  him  home  to  die. 
Oh,  de  sad  en  moanful  way,  po'  old  missus  kneeled 

ter  pray, 
When  Gabe  said:   "Hit's  gittin'  mighty  still." 


De  Bugle  On  De  Hill 

But  I  rise  en  jine  de  boys  when  I  hear  de  cannon's 

noise, 
Er  de  blowin'  ob  de  bugle  on  de  hill. 

Hit  'pears  es  if  I  seen  de  ole  plantation  green, 

En  sometimes  I  sho'ly  think  I  hear 
De  regiment  pars  by,  en  'low  I  hear  de  cry 

En  de  moan  ob  my  little  volunteer. 
En  I  see  de  moanful  way  po'  ole  missus  kneel  to  pray, 

En  sometimes  when  all  aroun'  is  still, 
I  kin  hear  de  tread  ob  feet  to  de  drum's  wild  beat 

En  de  blowin'  ob  de  bugle  on  de  hill. 

Dar's  a  spot  mighty  dear  to  dis  ole  darky  here, 

Whar  de  sunlight  is  peepin'  froo  de  palms, 
Wid  his  hands  'pon  his  breast,  dar  my  soldier's  gone 
to  rest, 

Jes*  peacefully  er  sleepin'  in  de  calms. 
En  de  drum's  wild  beat  er  de  tread  ob  marchin'  feet 

No  mo'  kain't  disturb  'im  now  until 
De  Lord  gibs  command,  den  I  know  he  '11  rise  en 
stand 

At  de  sound  ob  de  bugle  on  de  hill. 


OLD  ST.  JOE 

all  the  towns  that  jest  suits  me 

Stevensville  to  Manistee, 
There  's  one  old  place  I  can't  fergit ; 
It  ain't  a  great  ways  off,  and  yit 
From  here  it 's  sixty  miles  or  so 
In  a  bee  line — that 's  Old  St.  Joe. 

I  don't  p'tend  to  write,  an'  ain't 
One  of  them  air  chaps  't  paint ; 
'F  I  was  I  'd  tell  of  scenes  't  lie 
Stretched  out  afore  a  feller  's  eye  ; 
Er  when  the  sun  was  hangin'  low 
I  'd  paint  it  right  from  Old  St.  Joe. 

I  've  seen  folks  gether  thare  in  crowds 
Jist  fer  to  watch  the  golden  clouds 
Changin'  shapes,  and  sort  o'  windin' 
Into  riggers,  never  mindin' 
That  old  lake  spread  out  below, 
Reflectin'  'em  at  Old  St.  Joe. 

5* 


Old  St.  Joe 

Underneath,  them  cedar  trees 

'S  where  I  used  to  take  my  ease. 

Birds  a-singin'  all  along 

The  hedge,  an*  each  one  had  a  song 

An'  sung  its  best  to  let  you  know 

They  jist  got  back  to  Old  St.  Joe. 

They  ain't  no  purtier  site  tome — 
That  is,  'cordin*  to  my  idee — 
Than  jist  to  watch  the  gulls  'at  fly 
Round  that  old  pier  ;  an'  hear  Jem  cry 
An'  circle  round.     It  'pears  they  know 
Fishin's  good  at  Old  St.  Joe. 

Course  the  people  over  there 
They  don't  notice  'em  or  care — 
What  they  're  worry  in'  'bout  is  frost, 
'N  whether  strawberries  is  lost ; 
Yet  they  'pear  to  take  things  slow, 
Jist  the  same  as  Old  St.  Joe. 

'Ceptin'  rheumatiz,  their  health 
Is  middlin'  good,  an'  as  fer  wealth 
They  got  that,  an'  lots  o'  land  ; 
'Course  the  sile  is  mixed  'ith  sand  ; 
But  that's  what  makes  the  berries  grow 
Over  there  at  Old  St.  joe. 

59 


Old  St.  Joe 

Take  it  gener'ly,  as  a  rule, 
A  feller  likes  where  it 's  cool, 
Where  he  can  sleep,  an'  drink  in  air 
That  comes  perfumed  from  orchards  where 
The  peach  trees  jist  begin  to  Mow  ; 
Then  where  's  a  place  like  Old  St.  Joe  ? 

Such  cool  breeze  blowin'  back 
Keeps  the  skeeters  makin'  tack 
'N  the  flies  they  mostly  stay 
Up  round  Pipestone  creek,  they  say. 
Tell  you  what,  one  thing  I  know — • 
They  ain  't  no  flies  on  Old  St.  Joe. 


THE  TRAMP 

T  TE  came  from  where  he  started 

And  was  going  where  he  went. 
He  had  n't  had  a  smell  of  food, 

Not  even  had  a  scent. 
He  never  even  muttered  once 

Till  he  began  to  talk, 
And  when  he  left  the  kitchen  door 

He  took  the  garden  walk. 

He  said  :   "There  's  no  one  with  me, 

Because  I  am  alone ; 
I  might  have  scintillated  once ; 

My  clothes  have  always  shone. 
I  got  here  'fore  the  other  ones 

Because  I  started  first : 
The  reason  I  look  shabby  is 

Because  I  'm  dressed  the  worst." 

Then  I  asked  him  where  he  came  from — 
This  was  just  before  we  parted, 

And  he  muttered  indistinctly, 

"  Oh,  I  come  from  where  I  started  !" 
61 


THE  CHAUTAUQUAN  MAID 

OHE  had  studied  every  ology — 

Ichthyology,  zoology, 
Philology,  geology,  conchology,  and  more ; 
Knew  the  bones  of  every  mammal, 
From  the  mouse  up  to  the  camel, 
And  the  mollusks  and  crustaceans  that  crept  on  every 
shore. 

To  think  her  up  in  history 

Was  not  at  all  a  mystery  ; 

She   could  name  you  any  ruler  from  old  England  to 
Sumatra. 

It  would  certainly  amaze  you 

What  she  said  about  Aspasia 
And  the  little  unsophisticated  maiden,  Cleopatra. 

She  had  studied  Greek  and  Latin, 
Hebrew,  Sanscrit  (please  put  that  in); 
Read  Xenophon  and  Horace,  Ovid,  Virgil  and  the 
rest. 

62 


The  Chautauquan  Maid 

She  did  n't  say,  "  I  Ml  learn  yuh," 
But  "teach  you"  that  Calphurnia 
Sewed  fifty-seven  buttonholes  in  Julius  Czesar's  vest. 

She  loved  to  pull  the  petals 
From  a  flower.     The  baser  metals, 
She  doted  on  their  study,  and  for  nuggets  she  would 

bone  you. 

She  loved  the  dromedary, 
And  the  docile  cassowary, 

And  the  feathers  of  the  emu  she   had  stuck  in  her 
"chiffonier." 

She  had  studied  evolution, 
And  arrived  at  the  solution 
How   long  our    first   appendage   was;    of  course,   I 

did  n't  ask  her, 

But  she  said  that  she  'd  resolved  from 
What  she  knew,  that  I  evolved  from 
A  carrot-haired   chimpanzee  she  had  seen  in  Mada 
gascar. 

She  could  scan  iambic  meter, 
And  she  knew  each  Roman  prastor, 
And  surprised  me  when  she  told  the  way  the  empire 
came  to  fall. 

63 


The  Chautauquan  Maid 

The  Huns  sneaked  in  the  forum, 
And  the  Romans  tried  to  floor  'em, 
But  they  got  themselves  in  trouble,  and,  of  course, 
got  whipped,  by  Gaul. 


I  'M  A  BLUEJAY 

T  'M  a  bluejay,  'nd  never  mind 
A   'F  my  toe  does  stick  out  behind. 

When  I  ketch  on  a  limb 

I  'm  there  for  keeps — 

'Lesn  I  let  go. 
Of  course  I  must  eat. 

Sometimes,  you  know, 

I  have  to  jes'  let  go 

O'  that  hind  toe. 

I  'm  a  dead  sure  thing  in  spring. 

As  soon  's  the  weather  's  kind  o*  warm 

You  '11  notice  me  on  a  fence. 

I  feel  immense 

In  my  blue  suit. 
The  woods  can  ketch  my  chirp ; 

You  hear  my  toot 
From  then  out  'f  you  do  n't  shoot 

At  my  blue  suit. 
65 


I  'm  a  Blue] ay 

I  put  ripe  cherries  in  my  face, 
Same  place  I  wedge  all  the  bugs ; 
An'  do  n't  you  ever  think 
'At  I  'm  no  good 
An'  sponge  my  way. 
Do  I?     I  guess  I'll  foolyuh, 
I  eat  yer  durn  "circulia." 
I  guess  I  work  my  way 
'F  I  am  a  jay. 


'RASTUS  KING 

A  S  you  happen  jes'  to  mention 
I*T'     Old  time  friends  'at  sort  o'  bring 
Mem'ries  back,  I'd  like  to  ask 

What 's  become  o'  'Rastus  King  ? 

Did  he  go  out  west  prospectin* 

Far  on  Californy  's  rim  ? 
Did  he  settle  with  the  Injuns, 

Or  did  the  Injuns  settle  him  ? 

What  a  great  big-hearted  feller 

'Rastus  was,  and  how  he  'd  sing  ! 

Sometimes  tears  Ml  start  to  rollin' 
When  I  think  o'  'Rastus  King. 

Where  is  he  an*  what 's  come  of  him  ? 

Is  he  toilin*  hard  fer  bread  ? 
Is  he  prosperous  and  wealthy  ? 

Is  he  livin*  still,  or  dead  ? 

How  my  heart  recalls  the  mornin* 
That  I  met  him.      Splittin*  wood, 
67 


'Rastus  King 

Payin'  fer  his  school  tuition, 
Earnin'  thus  a  livelihood. 

Allers  boarded  at  the  neighbors, 
Turned  his  hand  at  anything  ; 

Faithful,  honest ;  well  the  farmers 
Simply  swore  by  'Rastus  King. 

Find  him  down  to  meetin'  Sundays 
Sittin'  in  the  deacon's  pew  ; 

Talk  about  yer  knowledge  ;  he  had 
Read  the  Bible  through  and  through, 

When  the  choir  would  jine  together 
An'  with  the  congregation  sing, 

Way  above  all  other  voices 

You  could  hear'im — 'Rastus  King. 

Did  you  ever  come  to  meet  'im  ? 

Do  you  think  he  's  livin'  here  ? 
Say,  he  ain't  much  older  'n  I  am  ; 

Reckon  now  he  's  sixty  year. 

Last  I  heerd  he  's  doin'  splendid, 
Rich,  fast  horses,  everything. 

Jest  like  him,  a  regular  schemer  ; 
Oh  !  I  knew  him,  'Rastus  King. 
68 


'Rastus  King 

Then  the  hackman  I  M  been  asking 
All  these  questions  thus  did  say  : 

««  Rastus  livin'  purty  quiet ; 

Don't  go  out  at  all,  they  say." 

«*  Don't  go  out  at  all — why,  stranger  ? 

What 's  the  matter?     Did  he  fail  ?  " 
w  Well,"  said  he,  "  nothin  's  the  matter 

Stephen,  only  he  's  in  jail." 


THAT  VALENTINE 

/"ANCE,  I  remember,  years  ago, 

^•"^      I  sent  a  tender  valentine  ; 

I  know  it  caused  a  deal  of  woe. 

Once,  I  remember,  years  ago, 

Her  father's  boots  were  large,  you  know. 

I  do  regret  the  hasty  line, 
Once,  I  remember,  years  ago 

I  sent  a  tender  valentine. 

I  know  I  never  can  forget 

I  sent  the  tender  valentine  ; 
Somehow  or  other  I  regret, 
But  how  I  never  can  forget, 
But  then,  I  know,  I  know  I  met 

Her  father.      Oh,  what  grief  was  mine. 
I  know  I  never  shall  forget 

I  sent  a  tender  valentine. 


70 


DE  GOOD  SHIP 

T  'SE  bin  watchin'  long  fer  de  Good  Ship, 

De  Good  Ship  de  Lo'd  sent  ter  me  ; 
An*  it  'pears  dat  hit 's  had  a  long  voyage 
Crossin'  life's  troublesome  sea. 

I  'se  spected  it  'long  in  de  moh'nin', 
When  nary  a  sail  was  in  sight, 

An'  I'se  looked  fer  it  'long  about  noonday. 
'N  watched  fer  it  way  in  de  night. 

Till  I  cast  my  eye  ovah  de  boun'less 
Ole  ocean,  an'  what  did  I  see  ? 

Off  der  in  de  hush  ob  de  distance 
De  Good  Ship  a-comin'  to  me. 

So  I  laid  my  haid  down  on  my  pillow, 
Fo'gettin'  life's  worry  an*  sin  ; 

An'  when  I  awoke  in  de  moh'nin', 
My  Good  Ship  had  done  got  in. 


A  CASUAL  OBSERVATION 

TP\AR'S  nuffin'  hyar  but  vanity 

•^^^      An*  riches  an*  insanity; 
De  dollah  seems  to  be  de  people's  god. 

Dar  Js  a  heap  too  many  'Scariots 

A-ridin'  'roun'  in  chariots, 
While  de  po'  man  am  a-carryin'  de  hod. 

Dar  's  too  much  haste  an'  hurryin', 
An*  too  much  wea/th  at  buryin', 

An'  dis  hyar  t'ing  am  gettin'  worse  and  worse, 
Hit  takes  all  ob  de  rakin's, 
De  scrimpin's  an'  de  scrapin's 

To  liquidate  de  'spenses  ob  de  hearse. 

Dar  's  heaps  ob  care  an*  worry ; 

Ebbery body's  in  a  hurry, 
An*  de  few  am  growin'  richer  ebbery  day ; 

But  de  most  of  us  must  shovel 

For  de  children  in  de  hovel 
An*  silently  await  de  judgment  day. 

73 


LIKE  THE  NEW  FRIENDS  BEST 

TH\O  N'T  talk  to  me  o'  old  time  friends, 

^•^      But  jes  give  me  the  new. 

The  old  friends  may  be  good  enough, 

But  somehow  they  won't  do, 

I  do  n't  care  for  their  old  time  ways  ; 

Their  questions  you  '11  allow 

Are  soulless  as  a  parrot's  gab: — 

"  Well,  what  you  up  to  now? " 

That 's  one  thing  I  've  agin  'cm, 

'Cause  that  with  all  the  rest, 

Like  hintin*  'bout  some  old  time  debt ; 

1  like  my  new  friends  best. 

I  meet  an  old  friend  in  the  street, 

As  oftentimes  I  do, 

Mechanically  he  stops  to  shake 

An'  say:   "Well,  how  are  you?" 

Then  drawin*  down  his  face,  as  if 

His  cheeks  was  filled  with  lead, 

He  says:   "  I  spose  you  've  heard  the  news?" 

73 


Like  the  New  Friends  Best 

«No!"      "Eli  Stubbsis  dead. 
An*  Tore  he  died  he  ast  for  you — 
Seemed  sorry  you  was  gone, 
An*  said  'at  what  he  'd  let  you  have 
He  hoped  would  help  you  on." 
Now  that 's  why  I  do  n't  like  'em  much, 
You  prob'bly  might  have  guessed. 
I  aint  got  much  agin'  'em,  but 
I  like  the  new  friends  best. 

Old  friends  are  most  too  home-like  now. 

They  know  your  age,  and  when 

You  got  expelled  from  school,  and  lots 

Of  other  things,  an'  then 

They  'member  when  you  shivereed 

The  town  an'  broke  the  lights 

Out  of  the  school  'nen  run  away 

An'  played  "Hunt  Cole"  out  nights. 

They  'member  when  you  played  around 

Your  dear  old  mommy's  knee  ; 

It 's  them  can  tell  the  very  date 

That  you  got  on  a  spree. 

I  do  n't  like  to  forget  'em,  yet 

If  put  right  to  the  test 

Of  hankerin'  right  now  for  'em, 

I  like  the  new  friends  best. 

74 


A  NEGRO  SONG  OF  HOME 

AIN'T  berry  many  people  wat '11  listen  to  a 

niggah 

Un  'low  dey's  enny  sense  in  wot  he  say, 
But  I'se  gwine  ter  guv  de  'sperience  of  mah  feelin's, 

and  I  figgah 

Dat  dey's  quite  a  smart  o'  people  tinks  mah  way. 
Wen  a  man  begins  a-shoutin'  'bout  de  good  tings  dat 

he  's  missin* 

Kickin'  kase  dey  ain't  a  fortune  in  his  job, 
Let  'im  go  home  to  his  kitchen,  an'  set  down  a  while 

an'  listen 
To  de  singin'  ob  de  kettle  on  de  hob. 

I've  hayrd  de  strains  ob   "  Home,  Sweet  Home" 

when  Patti  was  a-singin' 
An'  de  aujience  was  a-spillin'  ob  deir  tears  ; 
But  I  did  n't    mind  the  singah,  fo'  a  different  tune 

kep'  ringin' 
Wif  hits  ha'nty  kin'  ob  music  in  mah  ears. 

75 


A.  Negro  Song  of  Home 

An'  I  reckernized  de  melerdy  so  powerful  bewitchin' 
Dat  made  mah  heart  like  sixty  fo'  ter  t'rob, 

An'  I  mejiate  felt  a  hank'rin'  fo'  my  cozy  little  kitchen 
An'  de  singin'  ob  de  kettle  on  de  hob. 

De  rich  man  can  inhabitate  a  palace  ef  he  wishes, 

Wif  brick-er-brack  and  pictuahs  on  de  wall ; 
An'  kin  lay  on  velvet  sofers  an'  eat  ofr'n  golden  dishes, 

But  I  would  n't  swap  mah  kitchen  fo'  his  all  ; 
Fo'  hit  would  n't  be  like  home  ter  me  but  'ceptin'  I 
could  listen, 

A-puffin'  at  de  backy  in  mah  cob, 
While  de  good  Lawd  seemed  a-speakin'  ob  a  home 
like  kin*  ob  blessin' 

Frough  de  singin'  ob  de  kettle  on  de  hob. 


76 


S'POSIN' 

\T7HAT  if  the  new  San  Francisco  should  sail 

To  Chilian  waters  away, 
With  the  Boston  and  Yorktown  afar  in  the  east, 

'Nd  the  Lancaster  off  in  Bombay; 
'Nd  the  big  Philadelphia — s'posin'  she  wuz 

A-loadin'  with  tea  in  Japan, 
With  the  Concord  and  Bennington  flyin'  so  gay 

Their  colors  around  Hindostan  ; 
'Nd  s'posin'  the  Charleston  wuz  in  Bering  Sea, 

With  the  Newark  in  Pamlico  Sound, 
'Nd  the  Miantonomah's  big  bilers  should  bust, 

'Nd  the  Baltimore  run  hard  aground  ; 
Then  s'posin'  we  got  in  a  fight  right  away 

With  Chili  or  even  Peru, 

'Nd  England  should  work  the  shell  game  on  New 
York, 

Say — what  in  the  deuce  would  we  do? 


77 


LITTLE  'RASMUS 

Great  Good  Speret  come  down  from  above 
An'  took  ieetle  'Rasmus  away; 
Took  my  leetle  'Rasmus  dat  played  peep  wid  me, 
En  rode  out  to  Banbury  Cross  on  my  knee, 

Took  po'  leetle  'Rasmus  away. 
Took  rny  leetle  'Rasmus  dat  played  roun'  de  do* 
An'  danced  at  de  sunbeams  dat  fell  on  de  flo', 
Took  my  leetle  'Rasmus  away. 

Dat  's  why  I  'se  down-hearted  an'  kain't  fin'  relief, 
An'  oP  an'  bent  over  ;  I  'se  loaded,  with  grief 

Kase  'Rasmus  has  done  gone  away. 
De  Great  Good  Speret  comes  down  from  de  sky 
An'  hovahs  aroun'  ebbery  day, 
An'  hit  'pears  what  yo  's  lovin'  a  leetle  too  much, 
De  Good  Speret  takes  it  away, 

Kase  He  took  leetle  'Rasmus  away. 

But  I  know  de  Good  Speret  mus'  be  mighty  glad, 
But  dis  darky's  heart  am  jes'  mounful  an'  sad 
Since  'Rasmus  has  done  gone  away. 
78 


Little  'Rasmus 

An*  mos'ly  at  morn,  when  de  whimperin'  breeze 
Am  loiterin'  up  in  de  sycamore  trees, 
An*  at  noon  when  de  sun  dances  roun'  on  de  flo' 
Dis  ole  darky's  heart  am  jes'  burdened  wid  woe, 
An*  at  night  twixt  de  win*  an'  de  patterin'  rain, 
My  po'  soul  an'  body  am  restless  wid  pain 
Since  'Rasmus  has  done  gone  away. 

But  I  know  de  Good  Speret  comes  down  from  de  sky 
An'  hovahs  aroun'  ebbery  day, 
An'  hit  'pears  what  yo'  worship  a  leetle  too  much 
De  Good  Speret  takes  it  away, 
Kase  He  took  leetle  'Rasmus  away — 
Took  po'  leetle  'Rasmus  away. 


79 


NOBODY-  KNOWS 

"^TOBODY  knows  when  de  col*  winds  am  blowin', 
•^          Whar  all  de  po'  little  chillun  am  a-goin'. 
Nobody  knows  when  de  night  time's  hoverin' 
How  many  little  ones  am  des'tute  ob  coverin'. 
Nobody  sees,  but  de  Lo'd  done  see  'em, 
An'  bime-by  de  Lo'd  '11  tell  humanity  ter  free  'em. 

Nobody  knows  jes'  how  many  am  in  rags, 

A-sleepin'  in  de  hot  blocks  an'  'roun'  on  de  flags, 

Nobody  sees  all  dis  poverty  an'  woe, 

A-livin'  on  de  emptyin's  an'  not  a  place  ter  go. 

Nobody  sees,  but  de  Lo'd  done  see  'em, 

An'  bime-by  de  Lo'd  '11  tell  humanity  ter  free  'em. 

Nobody  knows  whar  dis  poverty  all  comes — 
How  many  po'  folk  am  sleepin'  in  de  slums. 
Nobody  knows  jes'  how  few  am  befriendin', 
But  de  good  Lo'd  knows  dar  mus'  soon  be  an  endin', 
Nobody  sees,  but  de  Lo'd  done  see. 'em, 
An'  bime-by  de  Lo'd  '11  tell  humanity  ter  free  'em. 
80 


SHE  DOES  NOT  HEAR 

SH-SH-SH-SH-SHE  does  not  hear  the  r-r-r-r-rotin 
sing, 
Nor   f-f-f.f-fcel     the    b-b-b-b-balmy    b-b-breath   of 

Spring ; 

Sh-sh-sh-she  does  not  hear  the  p-p-pelting  rain 
B-b-b-beat    ta-ta-tat-t-t-toos    on    the    w-w-winder 
p-p-pane. 

Sh-sh-sh-she  cuc-cuc-cannot  see  the  Autumn  s-s-sky, 
Nor  hear  the  wild  geese  s-s-s-stringing  b-b-by; 
And,  oh  !  how  happy  t-t-t-  'tis  to  know 
Sh-sh-she  never  f-f-feels  an  earthly  woe  ! 

I  s-s-spoke  to  her;  sh-sh-she  would  not  speak. 
I  kuk-kuk-kuk-kissed  her,  but  c  c-cold  was  her  cheek. 
I  could  not  twine  her  w-w-w-wondrous  hair — 
It  w-w-was  so  wonderf-f-f-fully  rare. 

B-b-beside  her  s-s-stands  a  v-v-v-vase  of  flowers, 
A  gilded  cuc-cuc-cuc-clock  that  t-t-tells  the  hours ; 

83 


She  Does  Not  Hear 

And  even  now  the  f-f-fire-light  f-f-f-falls 
On  her,  and  d-d-dances  on  the  walls. 

Sh-sh-she's  living  in  a  p-p-pup-purer  life, 

Where  there  's  no  tu-tuh-turmoil  and  no  strife  ; 

No   t-t-t-tongue   can   m-m-m-mock,   no  words   em« 

barrass 
Her  b-b-b-b-by  g-g-gosh  !  she  's  p-p-plaster  paris  ! 


DOWN  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

,  de  ole  plantation  landin', 
On  de  Mississippi  sho', 
*  Pears  es  if  I  seed  ole  massa 

Standin'  waitin'  dar  once  mo'  — 
Back  aways  to  whar  de  cabin's 

Almos'  hid  by  lilac  trees — 
Seems  es  ef  I  h'yard  po'  missus 
Singin'  old-time  melodies. 

Hollyhocks  en  honeysuckles 

Grow  en  bloom  along  de  way, 
Leadin'  up  dar  to  de  cabin  ; 

But  de  ole  folks,  whar  are  dey  ? 
An'  de  winin'  path  a-leadin' 

Roun'  de  house ;  sometimes,  a  spell, 
Seems  es  ef  I  h'yard  de  win'less 

H'istin'  watah  Pom  de  well. 


Down  the  Mississippi 

Cap'n,  kain  yo'  stop  de  boat,  sah  ? 

Stop  de  boat,  kase  well  I  know 
I  has  done  gone  down  dis  rivah 

'Bout  es  far  's  hi  keah  ter  go. 
You  kin  Ian*  me  soon  's  yo  's  ready, 

En  I  Mow  I  '11  fin*  mah  way 
Back  to  dat  ole  shattah'd  homestead 

Whar  de  sun  shines  froo  to-day. 

Massa  Lincoln's  gunboats  let'  it 

Jais  dat  way  in  sixty-three ; 
Cose  dey  did  some  monsus  damage, 

But  dey  set  us  dahkies  free. 
How  I  'membah  po'  ole  missus 

Standin'  n'yah  de  cabin  do' 
En  she  say  :   "  Yo'  gwine  off,  'Rasmus  ? 

Ain'  yo'  gwine  come  back  no  mo'  ? M 

Den  I  sade  :   "  Not  zackly,  missus ; 

Somepin  's  done  ketched  ontah  me. 
Dar's  a  big  stampede  ob  darkies 

From  Kaintuck  en  Tennessee. 
When  de  boat  comes  up  de  ribbah 

Whistlin'  'roun'  de  lower  bow 
I  mus'  leebe  de  ole  plantation — 

Yas,  must  say  good-bye  en  go." 
86 


Down  the  Mississippi 

Massa  so't  o'  bowed  his  haid,  sah, 
Sittin'  in  Ms  ole-ahm-chair ; 

Missus,  standin*  on  de  do'step 

Caught  de  sunlight  in  her  hair ; 

An*  de  breezes  from  de  orchard 

'Feared  to  rustle  froo  de  trees, 

En  I  h'yard  old  Judy  weepin' 


Tale  yo'  I  was  mighty  sad,  sah, 

But  I  sort  o'  walked  away. 
Years  en  years  ago  it  was,  sah ; 

Now  I  'se  wanderin'  back  to-day. 
'Deed  I  'se  lookin'  back  en  gazin' 

Mos'ly  now  each  side  de  stream. 
Lan' marks  gittin'  mighty  natch'l, 

'Clar  hit  'pears  jais  like  a  dream. 

Dar  's  de  place!     Dat's  hit,  dar,  cap'n, 
Dis  yere  side  de  ole  ho'n  bow  ; 

'Low  yo'  need  n't  stop  de  steamah  ; 

Jais  slack  up  a  leetle — slow. 
*  #  #  *  # 

Dar  's  de  same  ole  steps  a-climbin' 
F'om  de  landin'  to  de  h;ll. 


Down  the  Mississippi 

La  n'  ob  goodness  !      Ef  de  bushes 
Ain't  a-growin'  thickah  still. 

In  de  Ian'  ob  dc  forgotten  ; 

Not  a  soul  along  de  hill ; 
Not  a  voice  to  wake  yo'  gladness  ; 

Everything  do  'pear  so  still : 
Not  an  echo  to  a  footstep  ; 

Not  an  ansah  to  a  call 
*Sep'  a  mockin'-bird  a-singin' 

To  de  lonesomeness — dat  's  al? 


THE  MERMAID 

OWEET  mermaid  of  the  incomparable  eyei, 
^     Surpassing  glimpses  of  the  April  skies. 
Thy  form,  ah,  maid  of  the  billowy  deep ! 
So  rare  and  fair,  but  to  possess  I  'd  creep 
Where  the  old  octopus  deep  in  his  briny  haunt* 
Comes  forth  to  feed  on  anything  he  wants  ; 
Where  mollusks  crawl  and  cuttlefish  entwine, 
There  on  crustaceans  be  content  to  dine. 
What  ecstacies  in  some  calcareous  valley, 
Had  I  but  scales  like  thee  'tis  there  we  'd  dally, 
There  seek  each  peak  and  let  no  other  bliss 
Be  more  enchanting  than  one  salt-sea  kiss ; 
There  sit  and  bask  in  love,  and  sigh,  and  feel 
Each  other's  fins  throb,  or  perhaps  we  'd  steal 
To  some  lone  cavern.      I  suppose  you  know  a 
Place  where  we  could  pluck  the  polyzoa, 
Or  in  your  boudoir  by  your  mirror  there 
I  'd  comb  the  seaweed  from  your  auburn  hair. 


The  Mermaid 

But  hush  !  A  red-haired  mermaid  sister  comes  this 
way, 

And  lashing  with  her  tail  the  wavelets  into  spray. 

Cometh  she  alone  o'er  yonder  watery  pampas? 

Oh,  no.  By  Jove  !  There  comes  the  white  hippo 
campus, 


DE  BLACKBIRD  FETCHED  DE 
SPRING 

XT7HEN  de  autumn  leabes  was  twistin* 

An*  a  tryin*  ter  git  loose, 
An*  de  apples  in  de  cidah  press 

Had  done  turned  inter  juice  ; 
When  de  blackbird  got  down-hearted 

An'  made  up  his  mind  ter  go, 
Hit  was  den  de  time  dis  dahky's  heart 

Was  jes'  pahboiled  wid  woe. 

He  was  wid  me  in  de  furries 

In  de  summah  fields  ob  co'n, 
An*  aroun*  a-hookin'  cherries — 

'Deed  he  was,  mos'  ebbery  mo*n, 
An*  he  he'p  me  dribe  de  horses, 

Cluckt  an'  cluckt  ter  make  *em  go. 
Dat  's  why  I  'low  dis  dahky's  heart 

Was  jes*  pahboiled  wid  woe. 


De  Blackbird  Fetched  De  Spring 

But  he  notice  dat  de  yellerin' 

Was  a-comin'  on  de  leabes, 
An*  de  win*  was  so't  o'  whinin',  too, 

Jes'  like  a  dog  dat  grebes, 
An*  wid  nuffin'  in  de  cherry  tree, 

Exceptin'  wintah's  bref, 
One  day  in  fall  he  'lowed  he  'd  go 

En  jes'  skip  out  himself. 

Hi  kain't  persarsely  blame  'im, 

Kase  I  'd  went  ef  I  was  him  ; 
'Low  he  knew  de  wintah  wedder 

Would  done  freeze  'im  to  de  limb, 
Kase  he  couldn't  ha'dly  navigate, 

Er  could  n't  cluck  er  sing, 
En  so  he  said:   "Good-bye,  ole  man, 

I  'se  comin'  back  in  spring." 

Dis  mohnin',  honey,  'deed  I  heerd, 

When  ebberyt'ing  was  calm, 
A  song  dat  tetched  mah  po'  ole  heart 

Like  oil  of  gladdest  balm. 
An'  who  should  I  see  settin'  dar 

Upon  de  ole  hay  rack, 
But  mah  blackbird,  shuah,  mah  blackbird, 

An'  'e  said,  "I'sejes'  got  back." 
92 


De  Blackbird  Fetched  De  Spring 

Den  he  opened  up  his  warble, 

When  de  gentle  winds  so  soft 
Came  dancin'  from  de  hill-tops  dar, 

An*  o'er  de  meddah  croft. 
An'  down  hyar  by  mah  cabin  do* 

He  sang  an'  flashed  his  wing, 
An'  I  praised  de  Lo'd  of  glory, 

Kase  my  blackbird  fetched  de  spring. 


93 


APPEARANCES 

1P\E  man  dat  wahs  de  slickest  tile 
*-*     Doan  draw  de  bigges'  check ; 
De  riches'  lookin'  kin*  ob  sile 
Doan  yieP  de  bigges'  peck. 

De  hoss  dat 's  highes'  in  de  pool 
Doan  always  win  de  race, 

Kase  sometimes  he  's  a  little  off, 
An*  sometimes  held  fo'  place. 

De  bulldog  wid  de  orn'ry  jaw 
Ain'  half  so  bad  to  meet 

As  dat  dar  yaller  mungril  cur 
Dat's  layin  for  yo'  meat. 

De  mooley  cow  dat  hists  her  leg 

An*  makes  de  milkmaid  scream, 

Am  jes'  de  bossie  cow  dat  gives 
De  riches'  kin'  ob  cream. 

De  mule  dat  hab  de  wicked  eye 

Ain'  half  so  bad,  now  min' — 

Look  out  for  dat  ole  sleepy  mule 
Yo'  's  walkm'  'roun'  behin'. 
94 


THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  JERSEY 


'\7"OU  can  sing  of  the  maid 
•*•        Who,  in  faultless  attire, 
Rides  out  in  her  curtained  coupe  ; 
Her  robes  are  exquisitely  fashioned  by  Worth  — 
At  eve  they  are  decollete  ; 
But  I,  I  will  sing  of  a  maiden  more  fair, 
More  innocent,  too,  I  opine  ; 
You  can  choose  from  society's  crust,  if  you  will, 
But  the  girl  with  the  jersey  is  mine. 

I  know  her  by  all  that  is  good,  kind  and  true, 

This  modest  young  maiden  I  name  ; 

I  've  walked  with  her,  talked  with  her, 

Danced  with  her,  too, 

And  found  that  my  heart  was  aflame  ; 

I  've  written  her  letters,  and  small  billet-doux, 

Revealing  my  love  in  each  line  : 

You  can  drink  to  your  slim,  satin-bodiced  gazelle, 

But  the  girl  with  the   jersey  is  mine. 


95 


IF  MY  WIFE  TAUGHT  SCHOOL 

TF  I  had  a  wife  'at  taught  school  I  would  go 

To  far-away  countries.      I  'd  fish  from  the  Po 
In  a  gondola  gay,  and  the  splash  o'   my  oar 
Would  be  heard  by  the  natives  around  Singapore 

If  my  wife  taught  school, 

I  would,  would  n't  you  ? 

Er  would  n't  yuh  ? 

Enny  way,  what  would  you  do  ? 

If  I  had  a  wife  'at  taught  school  I  would  get 
Something  fine  in  the  shape  of  a  furniture  set ; 
If  I  could  pay  my  board  and  she  could  pay  hern, 
There  's  a  good  many  nice  little  things  I  could  earn. 

If  my  wife  taught  school, 

I  would,  would  n't  you  ? 

Er  would  n't  yuh  ? 

Enny  way,  what  would  you  do  ? 

If  my  wife  taught  school  you  can  bet  I  would  fly 
Like  a  condor,  I  'd  roost  pretty  middlin'  high; 


If  My  Wife  Taught  School 

I  *d  wear  a  silk  tile  and  own  bosses,  I  vow, 
And  do  lots  of  things  I  ain't  doin'  now. 

If  my  wife  taught  school, 

I  would,  would  n't  you  ? 

Er  would  n't  yuh  ? 

Enny  way,  what  would  you  do  ? 

If  my  wife  taught  school  like  some  women  do, 
And  I  could  n't  earn  quite  enough  for  us  two, 
I  'd  go  in  the  barnyard,  without  any  fuss, 
I  would  blow  out  my  brains  with  a  big  blunderbuss. 

If  my  wife  taught  school, 

I  would,  would  n't  you  ? 

Er  would  n't  yuh  ? 

Enny  way,  what  would  you  do? 


THE  OLD  SPINNING  WHEEL 

in\O  you  remember  the  old  spinning  wheel 

That  stood  in  the  attic  so  many  years  ago, 
'Twas  covered  o'er  with  dust,  and  our  mother  used 

to  say 
'Twas  an  old   family  relic   of  our  grandmother's 

day. 

How  the  spinning  wheel  would  creak 
As  if  it  tried  to  speak, 
Recalling  tender  memories  of  yore  ; 
How,  back  in  other  years, 
Her  eyes  would  fill  with  tears 
As  she  heard  the  hum  upon  the  attic  floor. 
Creak,  creak,  how  it  would  creak, 
When  up  to  the  attic  we  'd  steal, 
But  mother  would  say  : 
'•  Boys,  come  away 
From  grandmother's  old  spinning  wheel." 

Do  you  remember  the  cobwebs  that  clung 
To  the  old  oaken  beams  in  the  house  we  were  born, 
98 


The  Old  Spinning  Wheel 

And  there  from  the  rafters  how  memory  brings 
Back  the  sage  and  catnip  and  the  dried  apple  strings. 

But  ah  !  no  other  joys 

Compared,  when  we  were  boys, 
When  we  played  upon  the  dear  old  attic  floor. 

To  slowly  turn  the  wheel — 

And  the  spindle  and  the  reel 
Would  sing  the  dear  old  song  it  sang  of  yore 

Creak,  creak,  how  it  would  creak, 

When  up  to  the  attic  we  'd  steal. 

But  mother  would  say  : 

"  Boys,  come  away 
From  grandmother's  old  spinning  wheel." 


99 


THE  OWL  AND  THE  CROW 

>T<HERE  was  an  old  owl, 

With  eyes  big  and  bright, 
Who  sung  in  a  treetop 

One  calm  summer  night. 
And  the  song  that  he  sung 

I  will  now  sing  to  you — 
"  To  whit  !     To  whoo,  hoo  ! 

To  whit !     To  whoo,  hoo  !  " 

He  sang  there  all  night 

Till  early  next  morn, 
When  a  crow  came  along 

That  was  looking  for  corn. 
The  crow  heard  him  singing, 

"  To  whit  !     To  whoo,  hoo  !  " 
And  offered  to  sing 

A  few  notes  that  he  knew. 

Just  then  the  old  owl 
In  the  treetop  so  high, 
100 


The  Owl  and  the  Crow 

With  his  classical  shape 
And  his  big  staring  eye, 

Requested  the  crow, 
In  the  deepest  of  scorn, 

To  sing  his  old  chestnut 
About  stealing  corn. 

"  Caw  !     Caw  !  "  said  the  crow, 

"  Well — my  deeds  are  by  light. 
I  do  n't  steal  young  chickens 

And  sit  up  all  night, 
With  dew  on  my  feathers  ; 

When  I  break  the  laws 
In  looking  through  cornfields 

It 's  not  without  caws  " 


101 


DE    CLOUDS    AM    GWINE   TER 
PASS 

wedder's  mighty  waum, 
An'  I  gase  it 's  gwine  ter  staum, 
Doan  yo'  see  de  swaller  flyin'  to  de  thatch  ? 
Black  clouds  a-sweepin'  by, 
Jes'  a-skimmin'  long  de  sky, 
Dar's  a-hustlin'  in  de  huckleberry  patch. 

Dar's  Zeke  and  Hezekiah, 

Jane  Ann  an'  ole  Maria, 
Mighty  skeery  when  dey  see  de  lightnin'  flash. 

How  dey  hustle  to  de  cabin, 

Whar  ole  Dinah  am  a-blabbin' 
An  de  hoe  cake  am  a-bakin'  in  de  ash. 

I  tole  yo'  kase  I  know, 

Jes'  what  make  it  thundah  so, 
Dat's  de  way  Gord  shake  de  rain  out  ob  de  sky  ; 

An'  when  yo'  hyar  de  soun' 

Like  a  shubbin'  tables  roun' 
Yo'  can  see  de  pigs  a-runnin'  to  de  sty. 

102 


De  Clouds  Am  Gwine  Ter  Pass 

But  de  clouds  am  gwine  ter  pass, 

An'  de  sun  shine  out  at  las', 
While  de  pickaninnies  play  aroun'  de  do'  ; 

An'  froo  de  windah  blinds, 

Hid  by  mornin'  glory  vines, 
Hit 's  er  gwine  to  flicker  down  upon  de  flo'. 

Gord  moves  in  many  a  way, 

So  de  ole  Bible  say, 
Fo'  He  counts  de  drops  and  all  de  grains  obsan'; 

An'  when  de  darkness  falls 

'Pon  dese  hyar  cabin  walls 
Hit  am  jes'  de  break  ob  day  in  uddah  lands. 

Den  hurry,  chillun,  hustle  while  you  may, 
Kase  yo'  know  dar  's  gwine  ter  come  a  rainy  day. 

But  de  gloomerin'  will  pass, 

An'  de  sun  shine  out  at  las', 
An'  de  darkies'  clouds  ob  sorrer  pass  away. 


103 


A  SUMMER'S  AFTERNOON 


5>T*WAS  the  close  of  a  summer's  day, 

The  sound  of  the  flail  had  died  away, 
The  sun  was  shedding  a  lingering  gleam, 
And  the  teakettle  sung  with  its  load  of  steam* 
The  old  clock  ticked  that  hung  on  the  wall 
And  struck  Jith  the  same  old  cuckoo  call  ; 
Then  oft  I  could  hear  the  mournful  bay 
Of  some  watch-dog  far  away. 
Then  all  ter  onct  piped  in  a  jay. 
I  just  sot  there  with  my  senses  gone, 
And  the  shadders  of  twilight  a-creepin'  on, 
With  the  eerie  hum  of  the  small  pee-wees, 
Over  there  in  the  cedar  trees, 
And  the  tinkle  of  bells  in  the  marshy  loam 
'At  told  me  the  cows  were  coming  home, 
And  the  sighing  breeze  came  o'er  the  croft, 
But  ah  !  comes  a  melody  far  more  soft 
Than  the  troubled  notes  of  a  lydian  lute 
Or  the  echoing  strains  of  a  fairy's  flute; 
104 


A  Summer's  Afternoon 

It  bids  me  awaken  and  live  and  rejoice, 
'Tis  only  the  sound  of  Elviry's  voice — 
Like  an  angel's  whisper  it  comes  to  me : — 
"Wake  up,  you  fool,  and  come  to  tea." 
An*  it  ain't  in  the  spring  er  it  ain't  in  the  fall, 
But  the  close  of  a  summer's  day, 

That's  all. 


107 


I  FED  THE  FISHES 

ONE  day  a  big  excursion  sailed  afar  out  in  the 
lake, 
All  bent  upon  an  outing  with  their  sandwiches  and 

cake. 
They  sought  the  upper  deck  until  the  wind  began  to 

blow, 

When   all  engaged  in   different  things  as  every  one 
must  know ; 

While  I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 

Good  Captain  Stines  went  up  on  deck   to  cast  his 

weather  eye  ; 
A  woman  sadly,  badly  prayed,  "  Oh,  Father,  let  me 

die!" 
The  cabin-boys  ran  back  and  forth  in  staterooms  all 

around, 
While  voices  shrieked :   "  Oh,  mercy — oop  !    Oh — 

oop  !  wish  I  were  drowned." 
108 


I  Fed  the  Fishes 

But  I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  gave  them  my  best  wishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 

The  pilot  boldly  held  the  wheel  as  through  the  wave* 

we  sped, 
While  Purser  Hancock  ran  abaft  to  hold  some  woman' i 

head; 
One   fellow  sat  him  down  and  sang:   "Good-bye, 

sweetheart,  good-bye ;" 
Most  every  one  seemed  occupied,  and,  sad  to  say, 

then  I — 

I  fed  the  fishes, 

I  fed  the  fishes, 

I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 

The  "Chicora"  rose  up  in  the  air  and  then  came 

down   "kersock;" 
She  wibble-wobbled  in  the  sea  and  once  she  struck  a 

rock  ; 
The  purser  wore  a  pallid  look,  the  women  all  turned 

pale, 

While  calmly  I  sat  out  on  deck  and  hung  over  the  rail; 
For  I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  gave  them  my  best  wishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 
109 


I  Fed  the  Fishes 

Some  tried  to  eat  their  sandwiches,  some  staggered, 

reeled  and  laughed, 
While  others  went  below  to  smile,   and  there   the 

brown  ale  quaffed. 
The   steward,    Richard  Waters,   rushed   about   with 

whisky  slings ; 
Most  every  one  seemed  occupied,  and  all  did  different 

things, 

But  I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes, 
I  fed  the  fishes  clear  to  Old  St.  Joe. 


no 


OLD  BOSSIE  COW 

*  ole  bossic  cow  's  down  in  de  marsh, 
Down  in  de  marsh  where  de  col'  winds  am 

blowin', 

Eb'ry  now  an'  den  when  de  staum  dies  away 
Seems  if  I  hyard  ole  bossie  cow  a-iowin'. 

So  out  by  de  cabin  do'  I  stan'  on  de  sweep, 

An'  listen  in  de  win'  an'  dampnin'  weddah, 

An  't  'pears  dat  I  hear  ole  bossie  cow  agin, 

An'  I  low  dat  she  say,  "Come  down  in  de  meddah." 

Den  down  froo  de  marsh  land  trampin'  along, 
Down  froo  de  gloom  an'  de  night  rains  a-fallin', 
Pickin'  my  way  through  the  whisperin'  reeds, 
"Co-boss,  co-boss,  co-boss"  a-callin'. 

Den  all  ob  a  sudden  I  come  to  a  stop, 

An'  dar  ole  bossie  cow  so  gentle  an'  so  kyind ; 

An*  I  coax  up  ole  brindle,  an'  I  lead  her  by  de  ho'n; 

A  wee  little  bossie  cow  comes  follerin'  on  behin', 

A  wee  little  bossie  comes  follerin'  on  behin'. 

211 


THAT  CAT 

'TPHE  cat  that  comes  to  my  window  sill 

-**     When  the  moon  looks  cold  and  the  night  is  still- 
He  comes  in  a  frenzied  state  alone 
With  a  tail  that  stands  like  a  pine  tree  cone, 
And  says  :    "I  have  finished  my  evening  lark, 
And  I  think  I  can  hear  a  hound  dog  bark. 
My  whiskers  are  froze  'nd  stuck  to  my  chin. 
I  do  wish  you  'd  git  up  and  let  me  in."   . 
That  cat  gits  in. 

But  if  in  the  solitude  of  the  night 
He  does  n't  appear  to  be  feeling  right, 
And  rises  and  stretches  and  seeks  the  floor, 
And  some  remote  corner  he  would  explore, 
And  doesn't  feel  satisfied  just  because 
There  's  no  good  spot  for  to  sharpen  his  claws, 
And  meows  and  canters  uneasy  about 
Beyond  the  least  shadow  of  any  doubt 
That  cat  gits  out. 

112 


A  FROG'S  THANKSGIVING 

T  '  M  a  frog  with  a  shanty  built  over  each  eye, 
•^      And  a  terrible  push  when  I  get  on  a  hump  ; 
There  's  very  few  reptiles  that 's  one-half  so  spry 
Or  can  come  up  along  side  o'  me  on  the  jump. 

I  'm  a  frog  when  the  other  birds  take  to  the  wing 
And  wander  away  beneath  balmier  skies  ; 
I  belong  to  the  bloated  batrachian  ring 
With  a  pneumatic  palate  for  coaxing  in  flies. 

I  'm  a  frog  in  the  fall  and  a  frog  when  the  frost 
Spreads  over  the  land,  and  the  forests  are  gray. 
I  'm  a  frog  keepin'  house  at  a  very  small  cost 
In  a  dug-out  I  've  built  out  o'  cat-tails  and  clay. 

I  'm  a  frog  with  a  green  overcoat  and  a  voice 
That  tickles  the  woods,  when  the  winter  's  no  more. 
The  old  folks  are  glad  and  children  rejoice, 
At  the  first  tap  o'  thunder,  I  let  out  a  roar. 

I  'm  a  frog  living  down  in  the  lush  of  the  swale  ; 
You  all  know  my  voice  when  I  'm  looting  for  game. 
They  call  me  a  cannibal — what  a  sad  tale. 
Well,  maybe  I  am ;  I  'm  a  frog  just  the  same. 
"3 


LOVEY-LOVES 

,  love  !  let  us  Jove  with  a  love  that  loves, 
Loving  on  with  a  love  forever ; 
For  a  love  that  loves  not  the  love  it  should  love — 

I  wot  such  a  love  will  sever. 
Bjat,  when  two  loves  love  this  lovable  love, 

Love  loves  with  a  love  that  is  best ; 
And  this  love-loving,  lovable,  love-lasting  love 
Loves  on  in  pure  love's  loveliness. 

Oh,  chide  not  the  love  when  its  lovey-love  loves 

With  lovable,  loving  caresses ; 
For  one  feels  that  the  lovingest  love  love  canjovje, 

Loves  on  in  love's  own  lovelinesses. 
And  love,  when  it  does  We,  in  secret  should  love— 

'Tis  there  where  love  most  is  admired  ; 
But  the  two  lovey-loves  that  do  n't  care  where  they  love 

Make  the  public  most  mightily  tired. 


114 


HANK  SPINK 

TTANKSPINK,  hesaid— erBob  did, his  brother- 
At  he  hit  a  man  once  for  somepin  or  other, 

An'  after  he  hit  'im — I  got  this  from  Bob — 

He  simply  went  right  out  an'   give  up  his  job  ; 

Not  Hank  er  Bob, 

But  the  feller  'at  got  hit 

Give  up  his  job. 

See? 

He  said  'at  the  wind,  er  the  force  of  his  blow, 
Er  somepin  like  that,  somehow — I  do  n't  know 
Just  now  what  it  was — I  got  it  from  Bob, 
'At  he  got  a  good  swat  ;  not  Hank  er  Bob, 
By  a  long  shot, 

But  the  feller  'at  got  hit 
Got  a  good  swat. 

See  ? 

He  said  he''d  be  blamed,  'at  he  did  n't  know 
How  he  came  to  strike  such  an  all-fired  blow, 

"5 


Hank  Spink 

'Cept  he  guarded  his  right  an*  threw  the  hull  heft 
Of  his  weight  an'  his  science,  an'  hit  with  his  left ; 
That  lost  'im  his  job  ;  not  Hank  er  Bob, 

But  the  feller  'at  got  hit, 
Lost  him  his  job. 

See? 


THE  NILE 


a  single  cloud  bedims  the  sky, 
Not  a  shadow  falls  below, 
But  crocodiles  creep,  enfeebled  by  heat, 
Through  the  lotus  flowers  that  grow 
On  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  the  placid  Nile, 
The  Nile  of  ages  ago. 

So  sluggish  and  wan  it  wanders  on 

Where  the  citron  and  doum  palms  grow, 

Where  Sphinxes  stare,  through  the  lurid  air, 
At  the  sun  in  its  molten  glow  ; 

That  's  called  the  Nile,  the  tranquil  Nile, 
Of  ages  and  ages  ago. 

On  the  purple  sheen  of  its  mirror  heart 

Her  galleys  bend  and  row, 
And  Egypt's  queen  can  still  be  seen, 

Of  olden  lands  the  foe. 
Ah  !  this  was  the  Nile,  the  ancient  Nile, 

The  Nile  of  the  long  ago. 


The  Nile 

By  ashen  banks  of  the  ancient  stream 

The  acacia  tree  bends  low, 
The  ibis  stands  in  this  tomb  of  lands, 

As  if  in  a  pallor  of  woe, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  the  sacred  Nile. 

The  Nile  of  ages  ago. 


1x8 


LIKE  DE  OLE  MULE  BES' 

SOME  folks  is  so't  o'  pa'shal  to  de  cattle  roun*  de 
fa'm, 

Ter  make  a  pet  ob  animals  dey  find  hit  so't  of  balm, 
While  odders  'fer  de  poultry  stock  ;  de  goose,  en  duck, 

en  hen 

Is  often  made  de  mos*  ob  by  de  wisess  kind  ob  men. 
Some  like  de   brindle  mooley  cow  'nd  Mow  dey  hab 

de  sense 
Ter  pear  ter  know  dere  massa  we'n  dey  see  *im  at  de 

fence. 
Some  like  the  yearlin'  colt ;  I  've  raly  seed  men  stand 

aroun* 
An'  pet  a  hoss  all  day,   'nd  rub  his  legs  en   fetlocks 

down ; 

But  gibbin  all  de  animals  de  faires'  kind  ob  tes* 
I  so't  o'  like  de  ole  mule  bes'. 

SoiTic  pet  de  mockin*   bird  en  robin  redbress*  an*  de 

linnit  ; 
Some   hke  de  gobbler  kase  he  's  struttin'  roun*  mos* 

ebery  minute. 

119 


Like  De  Ole  Mule  Bes' 

Some  like  de  peacock  fo'  his  pride,  an*  den  some  like 

de  dog, 
Whilst  odders  fo    companionship  have  prefunce  fo'  de 

hog. 
Some  fa'mers  like  de  wedder  sheep,  en  some  de  little 

lam', 
De  billy-goat,  an*  nanny-goat,  whilst  odders  'fer  de 

ram. 
Some  like   de  little  week-ol'  calf  w'en  buntin'  roun' 

hits  mudder, 
An'  some  folks  dey  like  one  thing  an*  den  some  folks 

like  anudder  ; 
But  'fall  de  stock  I'se  raised  wid  in  de  Souf,  er  Eas' 

er  Wes' 

I  so't  o'  like  de  ole  mule  bes'. 

Dars  sompin'   meekly  'bout  'im,  hits  de  fac'  he  is  n't 

bold 
An'  de  'spression  on  'is  face  is  like  de  holy  saints  ob 

old; 
When  he  sort  o'  histe  'is  heel  up  like  's  gwine  ter  hit 

de  sky 

He  's  simply  exahcisin'  jes  ter  pestervate  a  fly. 
An'  de  why  he  'pears  embarrass' d  is  kase  nature  had 

ter  fail 

120 


Like  De  Ole  Mule  Bes' 

An*  made  'im  sort  o'  long  on  ears,  en  kind  o'  short 

on  tail ; 
But  den  he  's  mo  den  'tatched  ter  me,  and  know  I  is 

his  frien' 
An'  we  done  made  up  our  mind  ter  stick   tergedder 

ter  de  end  ; 
So  dar's  no  use  ob  yo'  axin'  me,  yo's  done  had  time 

ter  guess 

I  so't  o'  like  de  ole  mule  bes'. 

I  used  ter  like   Lucindy,  but   den   'Cindy  couldn't 

stay, 
An*  little  Sim,    I  worshiped  .  so,    de  angels   coaxed 

away, 

An'  Lize  Anne,  an'  br'er  Zeph  dere  up  dar  on  de  hill, 
I  pa'shley  think  I  hear  'em,  too,  w'en  all  aroun'  is 

still  ; 
Yo'  see  I'se  mo'  den  lonesome  heah,  wid  nobody  ter 

talk, 

Er  hide  behin'  de  lilac  trees  adown  de  garden  walk, 
Dat  w'cn  I  look  at  dat  ole  mule  I  feel  so  full  ob  woe 
'Bout  little  Sim  'at  rode  on  'im,  an  'taint  so  long  ago, 
Ob  all  de  frien' s  dat's  lef  me  now,  I  'raly  mus' 

confess 

I  so't  o'  like  de  ole  mule  bes'. 

121 


DE  RIBBER  OB  LIFE 

T  DREAMT  dat  I  saw  de  ribber  ob  life 
A       Dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea. 
De  angels  war  wadin'  to  an*  fro, 

But  none  ob  'em  spoke  to  me. 
Some  dipped  dere  wings  in  de  silb'ry  tide  ; 
Some  war  alone  an*  some  side  by  side. 
Nary  a  one  dat  I  knew  could  I  see 
In  dat  ribber  ob  life, 
De  ribber  ob  life 

Dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea. 

De  ribber  was  wide,  dat  ribber  ob  life ; 

De  bottom  I  plainly  could  see. 
De  stones  layin'  dar  was  whiter  dan  snow ; 

De  sands  looked  like  gold  to  me. 
De  angels  kep'  wadin'  to  an'  fro ; 
Whar  did  dey  come  from  ? 
Whar  did  dey  go  ? 
None  ob  'em  sinnahs  like  me,  I  kno', 

122 


De  Ribber  Ob  Life 

In  dat  ribber  ob  life, 
De  ribber  ob  life 
Dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea. 

De  watah  was  clear  as  de  "well  by  de  gate,1 

Whar  Jesus  de  light  first  see. 
De  sofes'  ob  music  f'om  angel  bands 
Come  ober  dat  ribber  ob  golden  sands, 

Come  ober  dat  ribber  to  me. 
An'  den  I  saw  de  clouds  break  away, 
Revealin'  de  pearly  gates  ob  day, 
De  beautiful  day  dat  nebber  shall  cease, 
Where  all  is  joy,  an'  lub,  an'  peace. 
An'  ovah  dem  gates  was  written  so  clear: 
"  Peace  to  all  who  entah  here." 
De  angels  was  gedderin'  'roun'  de  frone, 
De  gates  done  closed,  I  was  lef  alone, 
Alone  on  de  banks  ob  a  darkenin'  stream, 
But  when  I  awoke  I  foun'  'twas  a  dream. 

I  'se  gwine  to  ford  dat  ribber  ob  life 

An*  see  de  eternal  day. 
I  'se  gwine  to  hear  dem  heavenly  bands, 
An'  feel  de  tech  ob  ole-time  hands 

Dat  long  hab  passed  away. 
Dar  's  crowns  ob  glory  for  all,  I  'm  told, 
123 


De  Ribber  Ob  Life 

An*  lubly  harps  wid  strings  ob  gold. 
An'  I  know  ef  dar  's  peace  beyond  dat  sea, 
Wid  res*  fo'  de  weary,  dar  *s  res'  fo'  me-- 
Beyond  dat  ribber,  dat  ribber  ob  life, 
Dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea. 


124 


THE  CAT  O'  NINE  TAILS 

'  I  AHE  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  is  comin'  'round  agin, 
And  the  way  he  worries  children  sometimes  is 
a  sin  ;' 
He  grabs  'em  by  the  collar,  an*  he  yanks  'em  by  the 

clothes 
And  reaches  for  a  tender  place.     Why,  what  do  you 

suppose 
Will  happen  if  you  're  impident  an'  set  aroun'  an* 

grin  ? 

Well,  I  '11  have  to  call  the  cat  o'  nine  tails  in — 
Have  to  call  him  in  ;  yes,  have  to  call  him  in ; 

in. 
tails 

cat  o'  nine 
old 

I  '11  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in. 
old 

cat  o'  nine 

tails 
in. 

"5 


The  Cat  O'  Nine  Tails 

Are  you  sassy  to  yer  father,  are  you  fibbin'  to  yer 

mother  ? 
Are  you  quarrelin*  with  yer  sister  an*  a-pinchin'  of 

yer  brother, 
Do  you  "ring  around  the  rosey  "  till  you  have  a  dizzy 

feelin', 
And  you  think  yer  goin'  'roun'  an'  'roun'  an'  walkin' 

on  the  ceilin*  ? 
Well,  you  better  stop  yer  screechin'  an'  a-makin'  such 

a  din, 

Er  I  '11  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in — 
Have  to  call  him  in  ;  yes,  have  to  call  him  in  ; 

in. 
tails 

cat  o'  nine 
old 

I  '11  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in. 
old 

cat  o'  nine 

tails 
in. 

Do  you  ailers  mind  your  manners  when  company  is 

come  ? 
Er  do  you  git  upstairs  'nd  yell,  'nd  stomp  around  'nd 

drum  ? 

126 


The  Cat  O'  Nine  Tails 

Do  you  show  off  at  the  table,  too,  'nd  try  to  act  up 

smart, 
'Nd  p'int  yer  fingers  at  the  things  'nd  say  :    "  Gimme 

a  tart?" 
If  some  one  doesn't  dress  you  down  I  think  it  is  a 

sin  ; 

So  I  '11  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in — 
Have  to  call  'im  in  ;  yes,  have  to  call  'im  in  ; 

in. 
tails 

cat  o'  nine 
old 

I  '11  have  to  call  the  old  cat  o'  nine  tails  in. 
old 

cat  o'  nine 

tails 
in. 


127 


THE  HAIR-TONIC  BOTTLE 

TTOW  dear  to  my  heart  is  the  old  village   drug- 
•*•*•      store, 

When  tired  and  thirsty  it  comes  to  my  view. 
The  wide-spreading  sign  that  asks  you  to  "Try  it," 

Vim,  Vaseline,  Vermifuge,  Hop  Bitters,  too. 
The  old  rusty  stove  and  the  cuspidor  by  it, 

That  little  back  room.     Oh  !  you  've  been  there 

yourself, 

And  ofttimes  have  gone  for  the  doctor's  prescription, 
But  tackled  the  bottle  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 
The  friendly  old  bottle, 
The  plain-labeled  bottle, 
The  "Hair-Tonic"  bottle  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 

How  oft  have  I  seized  it  with  hands  that  were  glowing, 

And  guzzled  awhile  ere  I  set  off  for  home ; 
I   owned  the  whole   earth  all  that  night,   but  next: 

morning 

My  head  felt  as  big  as  the  Capitol's  dome. 
128 


The  Hair-Tonic  Bottle 

And  then  how  I  hurried  away  to  receive  it, 

The  druggist  would  smile  o'er  his  poisonous  pelf, 
And  laugh  as  he  poured  out  his  unlicensed  bitters, 
And  filled  up  the  bottle  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 
The  unlicensed  bottle, 
The  plain-labeled  bottle, 
That  ««  Hair-Tonic"  bottle  that  stood  on  the  shelf. 


129 


DE  CIRCUS  TURKEY 


H 


E  'S  de  worst  I  evah  see, 

Dat  old  turkey  up  'n  de  tree, 
I  bin  pesta'n  him  'n  punchin'  him  saince  mohnin'. 
I  nev'  saince  I  was  bo'n 
See  de  way  he  do  stick  on, 
En  he  'pears  to  look  down  at  me  's  if  he  scornin'. 

He  does  n't  seem  to  'pear 

Ter  hab  a  bit  ob  fear, 
Kase  I  'se  wasted  all  mah  strength  'n  bref  upon  'im. 

It  may  be  he  's  in  fun, 

But  I  '11  scah  'im  wid  dis  gun, 
I  'se  boun*  ter  git  'im  down  some  way,  dog  on  'im. 

I  'se  fro'd  mos'  all  de  sticks 

In  de  yard,  Tn  all  de  bricks; 
Ef  yo'  was  me  whut  under  d'  sun  'ud  yo'  do  ? 

He  does  n't  seem  ter  change, 

'N'  'pears  ter  act  so  strange, 
I  d'clar  he  mus'  be  pestah'd  wid  a  hoodoo. 
130 


De  Circus  Turkey 

I  tale  yo'  hit  's  er  fac* 

I  nearly  broke  mah  back 
Er  histin'  shoes  'n  brickbats  up  dar  to  'im 

'Pon  dis  Tanksgibbin'  day. 

I  hate  ter  shoot,  but  say — 
I  bleebe  a  gun  's  de  only  thing  '11  do  'im. 

I  'low  I  '11  make  'im  think 

He  kaint  gib  me  de  wink 
An'  sait  upon  dat  limb  en  be  secuah. 

Biff!— !     Bang!—!     I  '11  make  'im  si:«g; 

Mah  goodness,  watch  'im  swing. 
W'y  he  's  a  reg'lah  circus  turkey,  suah. 

Hi  see  de  hull  thing  now — 

Dat  Rasmus  boy,  I  'low,  >^ 

Has  done  gone  tied  'is  feet  up  dar  wid  strings. 

No  wondah  dat  he  tried 

Ter  come  off;  he  was  tied 
'N'  all  what  he  could  do  was  flap  'is  wings. 

Come  hyar,  yo'  Rasmus,  quick,  sah  ! 

I  'se  min'  ter  use  dis  stick,  sah  ! 
Come  hyar,  from  ovah  dar,  from  whar  yo'  stood. 

I  'low  I  ought  to  lay  yo' 

Down  on  dat  groun'  en  flay  yo' 
I  'se  tempted  mos'  ter  use  a  stick  o'  wood. 


De  Circus  Turkey 

Yo'  kaint  go  de  meetin', 

An*  w'en  it  comes  ter  eatin' 
Yo'  mudder  sais  yo'  kaint  come  to  de  table. 

I  bet  yo  '11  sing  er  tune, 

Kase  all  dis  aftahnoon 
We  's  'cided  dat  we  '11  lock  yo'  in  de  stable. 

Yo'  kaint  hab  none  de  white  meat, 
An'  yo'  kaint  hab  none  de  brown  meat, 

An'  yo'  jes'  hearn  whut  yer  po'  ole  mudder  sade ; 
Yo'  kaint  hab  none  de  stuffin' 
Er  de  cranber'  sauce  er  nuffin', 

An'  'cisely  at  six  o'clock  yo'  go  ter  baid. 


132 


SOFIE  JAKOBOWSKI 

T    ITTLE  Sofie  Jakobovvski, 
-^-^ Handsome  as  a  forest  flower, 
Dwelt  alone  with  Gokstad  Pfouski 
Ivan  Ruric  Romanowski, 
In  the  palace  of  the  tower, 
Of  the  ancient  tower  of  Ivan, 
Dwelt  she  in  the  long  ago, 
Near  by  where  the  frozen  Volga 
Sleeps  beneath  its  weight  of  snow. 

Now,  it  seems  old  Gokstad  Pfouski 
Ivan  Ruric  Romanowski 
Had  a  passion  for  the  maid, 
And  was  very  much  afraid 
That  perhaps  she  might  get  frisky — 
Fall  in  love  with  John  Zobiesky  ; 
So  he  locked  her  in  the  tower 
Oft  for  many  a  weary  hour. 
He,  the  old  decrepit  sinner, 
133 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

Kept  her  locked  up  growing  thinner, 

Many  a  week  and  month  she  staid 

In  that  tower,  and  often  laid 

Down  to  rest  upon  the  cold 

Marble  floor,  so  I  am  told 

By  an  old  Slavonic  story 

That  is  gray  and  bald  and  hoary  ; 

'Tis  a  legend  that 's  so  weird 

Soft  winds  gently  comb  its  beard. 

Little  Sofie  Jakobowski 

Was  the  fairest  of  the  fair  ; 

Eyes  that  seemed  halfway  confessing^ 

Yet  would  keep  you  coldly  guessing, 

Hair  that  in  each  wavy  fold 

Tales  of  witchery  unrolled — 

Being  that  old  Angelo 

Traced  in  cloisters  long  ago  ; 

Lips,  those  liquid  lips  whose  dew 

Is  tinctured  with  the  rose's  hue  ; 

Cheeks  afire  with  the  glow 

Of  maidenhood  ;  a  neck  of  snow. 

Hoping,  grieving,  sighing,  praying 

For  her  lover,  disobeying 

When  she  dared  old  Gokstad  Pfouski 

Ivan  Ruric  Romanowski, 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

Even  hoping  to  the  end 
For  her  little  Polish  friend. 
Now  it  might  be  said  if  any 
Maid  had  lovers  she  had  many  : 
Old  traditions  name  a  score. 
Put  perhaps  a  dozen  more 
On  the  little  maiden's  list, 
For  her  charms  who  could  resist  ? 
She  could  bring  them  from  Siberia, 
Hindostan,  or  far-off  Syria, 
From  the  Deutscher  Zuyder  Zee 
To  the  rat-rice-fed  Chinee. 
There  was  little  Moses  Khan 
From  the  village  of  Kasan, 
Vadlimir,  and  Max  Pulaski, 
Peter  Ulrich,  and  Hydrasky, 
Isaac  Ozam  of  Torique, 
One  Jim  Bogado,  a  Greek, 
And  a  soldier,  Peter  Hensky, 
Of  the  noted  Prebojenski  ; 
Kutusoff  and  Fedorovitch, 
Little  No  Account  von  Storitch, 
Seizendorf,  and  Jake  Zebatzki, 
Romanoff  and  Ruffbnratzsky, 
This  is  but  the  half  of  them — 

135 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

Herr  von  Freitag  Stobelpem, 

And  a  Jew  that  sent  her  Rhine  wine, 

Moses  Aaron  Eiffel  Einstein  ; 

He  from  Hong  Kong,  Sam  Wing  Lee, 

Drinkee  Alice  Samee  Tea  ; 

Isawwiskey  and  Tschenimsky, 

Waronetski  and  Chewbimsky, 

And  two  nase  a  yentlemen, 

Yohn  and  Ole  Petersen. 

She  could  bring  them,  I  presume, 
From  the  far-off  land  of  doom, 
Each  with  one  intent  to  woo  her, 
Ardent,  doing  homage  to  her, 
Sending  presents  from  Australia, 
Nuggets  from  the  Himalaya 
Mountains,  rings  and  souvenirs 
Enough  to  last  a  hundred  years  ; 
Arrows  almost  every  hour 
Carried  presents  to  the  tower. 
Do  n't  you  think  it  quite  a  sin 
They  had  to  shoot  their  presents  in  ? 
Think  of  how  a  despot's  power 
Kept  her  locked  up  in  a  tower. 
She  the  fairest  little  maiden 
136 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

Dwelling  on  this  side  of  Aidin  ; 
Would  n't  any  lover  plunge  in 
To  the  deepest  Russian  dungeon, 
Or  become  a  serf  and  work 
Out  his  life  at  Nedjikerk 
To  kidnap  from  yonder  tower 
That  sweet  little  Russian  flower  ? 
So  I  would,  so  did  the  frisky 
Nihilist,  young  John  Zobiesky. 
Now  the  father  of  Zobiesky 
Manufactured  awful  whisky, 
But  young  John  took  more  delight 
In  making  bombs  and  dynamite, 
And  he  entertained  the  Russians 
With  a  series  of  concussions 
Till  they  wanted  him  so  bad 
That  it  made  all  Russia  sad. 
Once  I  think  he  came  not  far 
From  blowing  up  "  the  only  "  czar, 
But  he  had  a  most  surprising 
Way  of  hiding  and  disguising — 
Never  man  as  yet  had  found  him, 
Never  army  could  surround  him. 
Probably  he  had  a  mascot — 
Born  a  regular  Russian  Tascott. 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

John  Zobiesky  seemed  contented 
When  he  had  them  all  fermented 
'Round  the  palace.      Near  the  gate 
Cossack  soldiers  stood  up  straight, 
Guarding  with  their  guns  and  sabers 
One  another  from  their  neighbors  ; 
Over  there  one  can't  resist 
The  thought  to  praise  the  nihilist. 
Every  day  and  every  hour 
You  feel  the  despot's  potent  power  ; 
Every  day  you  want  to  shoot 
Some  old  potentate  and  scoot ; 
So  with  John.      One  day  he  saw 
Another  way  to  break  the  law. 
Listen  !     John  was  discontented, 
And  his  smart  brain  soon  invented 
With  saltpeter  and  corrosives 
Something  awful  in  explosives. 
Then  with  heart  chuck  full,  elated, 
Little  John  sat  down  and  waited — 
Waited  for  the  somber  curtain 
Of  the  night  to  make  him  certain 
That  he  might  not  be  discovered 
Or  his  hellish  plans  uncovered, 
Waited  till  a  cloudy  pall 
138 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

Hung  its  mantle  over  all, 

And  Stygian  darkness  reigning  far 

Hid  each  peeping,  tell-tale  star, 

That  lately  had  begun  to  nod 

From  Omsk  to  Nijni-Novgorod. 

Then  he  stole  up  to  that  tower, 

Just  beneath  his  lady's  bower. 

Fearlessly  he  placed  enough 

Of  that  paralyzing  stuff 

In  the  chinks  and  the  foundation 

Of  that  tower  to  blast  a  nation. 

Then  he  sat  him  down  and  wrote 

Forty  letters — make  a  note. 

He  wrote  forty,  understand, 

Wrote  them  in  a  woman's  hand. 

"  I  love  only — only  you  ; 

Come  to-night,  sweet  love.     Adieu  !  " 

Signing  with  a  heart  aflame, 

Sofie  Jakobowski's  name. 

One  dark  night  when  all  was  still 
On  frosty  turret,  dome  and  hill, 
Forty  suitors  came  in  season, 
Knocked,  and — I  do  n't  know  the  reason — 
Walked  right  in  the  door  ;  it  swung 
139 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

Open,  then  it  closed  and  sprung  ; 
Every  lover  seemed  to  fare 
The  same,  for  they  were  prisoners  there 
They  were  in  beyond  a  doubt, 
With  no  chance  of  getting  out. 
Now  the  risky  John  Zobiesky 
Had  the  Cossacks  drunk  on  whisky, 
And  guards  with  their  long  sabers, 
Rested  sweetly  from  their  labors. 
Sofie  Jakobowski,  frisky, 
Looked  down  on  her  John  Zobiesky  ; 
John  Zobiesky  gazed  at  Sofie 
And  he  longed  to  gain  the  trophy. 
Sofie,  up  there  in  the  casement, 
Throwing  kisses  towards  the  basement — 
John  Zobiesky  at  the  basement 
Hurling  kisses  to  the  casement. 
But  he  has  no  time  to  lose ; 
Fixing  up  that  deadly  fuse, 
Now  he  hurls  a  line  up  till 
It  reaches  Sofie' s  window  sill. 
Scarcely  had  she  made  it  fast 
When  the  maiden  stood  aghast  ! 
Startled  at  what  stood  before  her— 
John  Zobiesky,  her  adorer. 
140 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

Do  n't  get  anxious  ;  I  must  own 

John  and  Sofie  were  alone. 

And  I  know  a  Russian  kiss 

Is  not  such  hard-frozen  bliss. 

'Twas  the  first  in  years  that  they 

Had  thus  embraced — the  time  that  way — 

So  they  occupied  the  present 

Till  the  night  had  grown  senescent  ; 

And  they  wondered  oft  how  fared 

The  lovers  down  below  that  shared 

The  palace  of  old  Gokstad  Pfouski 

Ivan  Ruric  Romanovvski. 

"  Hark  !  "   cried  Sofie,  "  'tis  the  hour 
When  Moscow's  bell  in  yonder  tower 
Peals  a  knell,  and  we  must  fly, 
Or  else  together  we  must  die. 
Ah,  look  !  through  yonder  gate  I  see 
That  demon — and  he  comes  to  me — 
The  wretch  that  locks  and  keeps  me  here 
From  month  to  month  and  year  to  year." 
Up  jumps  the  risky  little  frisky 
Nihilist,  young  John  Zobiesky. 
A  kiss  upon  her  lips,  his  hand 
Upon  his  breast  as  if  to  brand 
141 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

His  vow  :   "You  say,  *He  comes  to  me  ;' 
You  cry  :   '  He  comes !  He  coriies !  To  thee 
I  swear  by  yonder  moonlit  snow 
He  comes  !'    Just  watch  and  see  him  go." 
Then  with  Sofie  on  his  shoulder — 
Never  fear  that  he  can't  hold  her — 
Through  the  window,  down  the  rope, 
The  nihilist  and  maid  elope. 
Not  a  moment  do  they  lose, 
Save  to  stop  and  light  the  fuse. 
Slowly  on  its  path  it  crawls 
Toward  the  gray  old  castle  walls, 
Past  the  Cossacks  with  their  sabers, 
Still  at  rest  from  recent  labors, 
And  the  noble  body  guard — 
They  are  snoring  just  as  hard. 
A  flash  !     A  roar  !  and  Moscow  rumbles, 
And  the  tower  of  Ivan  tumbles. 
Up  skyhigh  went  Godstad  Pfouski 
Ivan  Ruric  Romanowski, 
Also  little  Moses  Khan 
Of  the  village,  of  PCazan  ; 
Vadlimir  and  Max  Pulaski, 
Peter  Ulric,  and  Hydraski ; 
Isaac  Ozam  of  Torique, 
142 


Sofie  Jakobowski 

One  Jim  Bogado,  a  Greek, 
And  a  soldier,  Peter  Henski, 
Of  the  noted  Prebojenski  ; 
Kutuseff  and  Fedorovitch, 
Little  No  Account  von  Stovitch, 
Seizendorf  and  Jake  Zebatzski, 
Remanoff  and  RufFonratzski, 
This  is  but  the  half  of  them, 
Herr  von  Freitag  Stobelpem 
And  a  Jew  that  sent  her  Rhine  wine, 
Moses  Aaron  Eiffel  Einstein, 
Drinkee  Alice  Samee  Tea- 
He  from  Hong  Kong — Sam  Wing  Lee, 
Isawwiskey  and  Tschenimsky, 
Waronetzski  and  Chewbimsky, 
And  two  nase  a  yentlemen, 
Yohn  and  Ole  Petersen. 


SUNRISE 

E  dim  light  to  the  sou' ward 
Is  the  beacon  of  the  coast, 
But  the  white  light  to  the  leeward 

The  mariner  loves  most. 
And  whether  'tis  the  dim  light 

Or  the  white  light  to  the  lee, 
That  great  big  hunk  of  daylight 

Is  light  of  lights  for  me. 
But  what  it  is  of  all  lights 

That  fills  my  soul  with  glee, 
Is  when  that  hunk  of  daylight 

Climbs  up  out  of  the  sea. 


THE  WOODTICKS 


'S  things  out  in  the  forest 
That  's  worser  an'  'n  owl, 
'At  gets  on  naughty  boys  'n  girls 

'At  allers  wears  a  scowl. 
There  's  things  out  in  the  forest 

'At  's  worser  'n  a  lion, 
'At  gets  on  wicked  boys  'n  girls 

'At's  quarrelin'  an'  a-cryin'. 
There  's  things  out  in  the  forest,  mind, 

An'  if  you  do  n't  take  care, 
The  woodticks  —  the  woodticks  — 

Will  be  crawlin'  thro'  yer  hair. 

An'  they  say  as  boys  is  naughty, 
An'  their  hearts  is  full  o'  sin, 

They  '11  crawl  out  in  the  night  time 
An'  get  underneath  yer  skin, 

An'  the  doctor  '11  have  to  take  a  knife 
An'  cut  'em  off  jes'  so, 


The  Woodticks 


Another  one  '11  grow. 
An'  mebbe  you  won't  feel  'em,  too, 

Er  ever  know  they  're  there, 
But  by  and  by  they  '11  multiply 

And  crawl  up  in  yer  hair. 

The  devil's  darnin'  needle  too, 

'111  come  and  sew  yer  ear. 
An'  make  a  nest  inside  like  that, 

An'  then  you  '11  never  hear  ; 
An'  the  jigger  bugs  gets  on  you, 

An  the  thousand-legged  worm 
'111  make  you  writhe,  an'  twist,  an'  groan; 

An'  cry,  an'  yell,  an'  squirm; 
But  the  worst  things  'at  '11  git  you 

If  you  lie,  or  steal,  or  swear, 
Is  the  wood  ticks — the  woodticks — 

A-crawlin'  thro'  yer  hair. 


146 


DIDN'T  WE,  JIM? 

XT'ES,  sir;  we  lived  home  till  our  mother  died, 

•*•       An'  I  'd  go  a-walkin'  with  Jim,  cause  he  cried, 
Till  night  time  'ud  come,  'nd  we  'd  go  up  to  bed 
An'  bofe  say  the  prayers  'at  she  taught  us  ter  said — 
Did  n't  we,  Jim  ? 

An'  pa  'ud  stay  late,  an'  we  uster  call, 

'Cause  we  thought  we  heard  'im  downstairs  in  the 

hall: 

An*  when  he  come  home  once  he  fell  on  the  floor, 
An'  we  run'd  an'  hid  behind  ma's  bedroom  door — 
Did  n't  we,  Jim  ? 

She  told  us,  our  ma  did,  when  she  's  sick  in  bed, 
An'  out  of  the  Bible  some  verses  read, 
To  never  touch  wine,  and  some  more  I  can't  think  ; 
But  the  last  words  she  said  was  never  to  drink — 
Did  n't  she,  Jim  ? 

But  our  other  ma,  what  our  pa  brought  home  there, 
She  whipped  little  Jim  'cause  he  stood  on  a  chair 


Did  n't  We,  Jim  ? 

An*  kissed  our  ma's  picture  that  hung  on  the  wall, 
An'  struck  me  fer  not  doin'  nothin'  at  all — 
Did  n't  she,  Jim? 

She  said  'at  we  never  had  no  bringin'  up, 
An'  stayed  'round  the  house  an'  eat  everything  up, 
An'  said  'at  we  could  n't  have  no  more  to  eat, 
An'  all  'at  we  's  fit  for  was  out  in  the  street — 
Didn't  she,  Jim  ? 

We  said  'at  we  hated  her,  did  n't  we,  Jim  ? 
But  our  pa — well,  we  did  n't  say  nothin'  ter  him, 
But  just  took  ma's  picture  and  bofe  run'd  away; 
An'  that 's  what  Jim's  cryin'  'bout  out  here  to-day- 
Did  n't  we,  ain't  it,  Jim  ? 

Mister,  do  n't  feel  bad — 'cause  Jim's  cryin' — too  ; 
Fer  we  're  goin'  ter  hunt  an'  git  somethin'  ter  do  ; 
'Cause  our  ma  'at  died  said  ter  work  an'  ter  pray, 
An'  we  'd  all  be  together  in  glory  some  day — 
Did  n't  she,  Jim  ? 


148 


THE  POST-DRIVER 


'TT^HE  lingering  loon  flies  over  the  marsh  t 

And  the  night  bird  nestles  in  dew, 
The  river  is  cold  and  the  winds  are  harsh, 

But  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 

What  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo,  cuhchoo  ? 

Oh,  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 

Then  the  rail  comes  up  from  his  lushy  bed 

And  wings  to  the  realms  of  blue  ; 
Wild  lilies  soak  where  the  bullfrogs  croak, 

But  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo? 

What  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo,  cuhchoo  ? 

Oh,  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 

O'er  the  whispering  reeds  the  rice-hen  speeds, 

And  the  meadow-lark  singing  anew, 
And  I  know  in  the  swail  the  song  of  the  rail, 

But  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 

What  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo,  cuhchoo  ? 

Oh,  what  is  it  that  goes  cuhchoo  ? 
149 


LEF'  DE  OLE  HOSS  OUT 

*  >"pWEEN  de  gusts  ob  de  win' 
•^  Comes  a  winner  an'  a  soun* 
Like  de  trampin'  ob  hoofs  on  de  col',  col'  groun'. 

I  'se  'spicious  ob  a  staum, 

An'  dere  ain't  no  doubt 
But  somebody  's  gone  an'  lef'  de  ole  hoss  out. 

I  'membah  now  de  sheep 

Come  a-runnin'  to  de  shed, 
An'  de  ole  bossie  cow  was  a-standin'  in  'er  bed, 

An'  de  chickens  on  de  roos' ; 

But  what  was  I  'bout 
When  I  done  went  to  bed  an'  lef'  de  ole  hoss  out? 

Well,  I  mus'n  lay  heah 
An'  hab  de  col'  win's  blow — 
When  de  keyhole  whistles    dar  's   gwine  ter  come 

snow — 

I  jes'  oughter  'rise 
An'  wandah  right  out, 
An'  cuah  myself  ob  leebin'  de  ole  hoss  out. 
150 


Lef  De  Ole  Hoss  Out 

Mah  goodness,  what  er  night ! 

Wondah  what 's  dat  soun'  ? 
Dat's  de  ole  hoss,  jes'  comin'  on  de  boun*. 

I  'se  ashame'  ob  myse'f ! 

Well,  what  was  I  'bout, 
Ter  go  tcr  bed  ter  res'  an'  leebe  de  ole  hoss  out  ? 


EC-A-LEC-TIC  FITS 

T  '  M  only  jes'  a  little  chap, 
•*•      An'  my  ma  says  I  'm  frail ; 
I  got  ec-a-lec-tic  fits, 

'At 's  why  I  'm  lookin'  pale. 
Once  I  had  a  ague  chill, 

An',  oh,  how  I  did  shake 
'Cause  aunty  would  n't  give  me  any 

Jelly  tarts  an'  cake  ! 

Once  when  it  was  summer 

Once,  an'  nice  an'  warm,  nen  me 
An'  Jennie  went  in  our  back  yard 

'Nd  climbed  a  cherry  tree. 
An'  she  ate  all  the  cherries,  too, 

An'  fed  me  all  the  pits, 
An'  my  ma  said  'at 's  jes'  what  give 

Me  ec-a-lec-tic  fits. 

When  bad  girls  comes  to  our  house 
They  must  n't  scare  me,  too, 
152 


Ec-a-lec-tic  Fits 

An*  romp  up  quick  against  me 

Like  they  's  playin'  peek-a-boo, 

'Cause  ma  she  '11  say  right  out  to  'em: 
"See  here,  now,  children,  quit  ! 

I  guess  you  '11  have  to  run  right  home 
'Fore  Wads  worth  has  a  fit." 

Sometime  I  '11  be  strong'  nd  well 

An'  big  like  Uncle  Dan, 
An'  he  '11  be  little  jes'  like  me, 

When  I  'm  a  grown-up  man, 
'Nd  nen  I  won't  be  scarin'  people 

Almost  out  their  wits, 
'Cause  'en  I  won't  go  'round  a-havin* 

Ec-a-lec-tic  fits. 

When  you  see  me  turnin'  blue 

An'  when  my  hands  gits  cold, 
Don't  you  git  afraid  o'  that  ; 

But  jes'  you  git  a  hold 
Of  me,  an'  rub  my  hands, 

'Nd  rub  my  neck  'nd  head 
Till  I  "come  out ' ' — 'cause  if  you  do  n't 

I  'm  li'ble  to  git  dead. 

I  would  n't  care  if  I  should  die 
'Nd  go  up  there,  would  you, 

'S3 


Ec-a-lec-tic  Fits 

Where  the  sun  is  peekin'  'round 

The  clouds,  up  where  it 's  blue? 

'Cause  there  they  ain't  no  worry, 
An'  they  's  lots  o'  little  bits 

Of  fellers,  an'  they  's  none  of  'em 
Got  ec-a-lec-tic  fits. 


<5* 


KEEP  HIM  A  BABY 

him  a  baby  as  long  as  you  can ; 
Bless  him,  the  dear  little,  cute,  cunning  man  ! 
Keep  him  in  dresses,  and  apron,  and  bib  ; 
Rock  him  to  sleep  in  his  own  little  crib. 

Keep  him  a  baby  enjoying  his  toys — 
Soon  enough  he  will  be  one  of  the  boys  ; 
Keep  him  a  baby  and  keep  him  at  home — 
Manhood  will  very  soon  cause  him  to  roam. 

Ofttimes  at  night  when  he  wakes  for  a  frolic, 
Do  n't  get  excited — it 's  only  the  colic  ; 
When  he  has  reason  your  slumbers  to  mar, 
Get  up  and  walk  with  him,  just  as  you  are. 

First  it  is  Winslow  and  then  it  is  squills, 
Then  you  will  find  one  or  two  doctor's  bills, 
Though  he  's  a  trouble  at  times,  it  is  true, 
When  he  grows  up  he  will  take  care  of  you. 

Keep  him  a  baby  still  taking  his  nap, 
Do  n't  you  chastise  him  for  any  mishap  ; 


Keep  Him  a  Baby 

When  he  falls  off  a  sofa  or  chair, 

Do  n't  stop  his  crying  by  calling  a  bear. 

Keep  him  a  baby  and  do  as  I  say  ; 

Take  him  to  ride  in  his  carriage  each  day  ; 

Show  him  the  bossie,  the  horse  and  the  bow-wow ; 

Soon  you  will  hear  him  say  "moo  !"  to  the  cow. 

Keep  him  a  baby:  he  '11  soon  be  a  boy, 
Then  he  '11  forsake  every  plaything  and  toy; 
Keep  him  a  baby — he  '11  soon  be  a  man, 
Keep  him  a  baby  as  long  as  you  can. 


156 


ANGELINY 

COME  right  hyar,  yo'  Angeliny  ; 
Chile,  yo'  jes'  gib  me  de  blues, 
What  yo'  doin'  ?  tryin'  to  try  me 

Warin'  out  dem  bran  new  shoes  ? 
Vase  yo'  is,  'deed  yo'  is, 

Doan  yo'  dar  talk  back  to  me, 
Kase  I  know  yo'  is. 

Whar'  yo'  gwine  to  play  dis  tennis  ? 

Who  yo'  playin*  tennis  wid ; 
Playin'  wid  dat  Irish  Dennis, 

Well  fo'  yo,'  chile,  dat  yo's  hid. 
Come  right  squar  out  Pom  dar, 

Out  Pom  dar  hin'  dat  dar  bed  ; 
Now,  go  comb  yo'  har. 

Angeliny !     Angeliny  ! 

Doan  yo'  hyar  me  callin'  yo'  ? 
Need  n't  tink  dat  yo'  slip  by  me, 

Min',  gal,  I  'se  daid  on  tah  yo'. 

157 


Angeliny 

Come  right  squar  in  t'om  dar, 

Yo'  kaint  play  wid  dem  low  white  trash, 
Now,  my  gal,  see  hyar. 

Whar's  yo'  music  edgecashun  ? 
Git  to  dat  piannah  dar 
Play  dat  lubly  strabaganzah 

Dat  yo'  calls  de  Maiden's  Pra'r. 
Lan'  a-libin',  chile,  do  yo' 

Want  de  folks  in  dis  hyar  neighbo'hood 
Tink  yo  's  Irish  too  ? 


158 


DE  EYARFQUAKE 

eyarfquake  a-shakin' 
Jes'  a  short  time  ago 
Was  Belzabub  a-pullin' 

Out  de  clinkers  down  below. 
So  yo'  bettah  drap  yo'  sinnin', 
Kase  ol'  Satan  he  's  a-grinnin', 
Bime-by  de  big  saxafhone 
Am  shuahly  gwine  to  blow. 

Cose  yo  's  laffin  now, 

Bekase  it 's  mighty  still. 
Bime-by  she  gwine  ter  shake 

Wid  a  pow'ful  heavy  chill ; 
An*  de  ole  bell  in  de  towah 
'S  gwine  to  fall  down  wid  de  powah, 
An'  de  millstones  go  dancin' 

Roun'  de  bottom  ob  de  mill. 

Some  day  dar  's  gwine  ter  open 
De  bigges'  kin'  ob  crack, 
159 


The  Eyarfquake 

An'  dis  hyar  coon  's  a-hopin' 

Dat  de  Lord  won't  hoi'  yo'  back, 
'Speshly  Jaspah  Jones  McClellan, 
'Yo  's  de  one  I  'se  bin  a-tellin' 
'But  de  use  of  bad  profanity 
An'  also  plug  terbac. 

'Fore  de  debbil  shake 

De  furnace  down  agin, 
Yo'  bettah  ask  de  Lord 

To  rid  yo'  ob  yo'  sin, 
Kase  when  Satan  wants  some  fuel 
To  warm  up  his  brimstone  gruel 
He  '11  ope  de  furnace  do' 

An'  de  draf  '11  suck  yo'  in. 

Doan  be  loafin'  now 

An'  shootin'  craps  aroun' ; 

Yo'  bettah  be  a-tryin'  on 
De  white  probashion  gown  ; 

Fus'  yo'  know  all  ob  a  sudden 

Mos'  yo'  coons  '11  take  to  scuddin' 

An*  dose  cushun  feet 

Dey  '11  nevah  tech  de  groun'. 


160 


PRESQUE  ISLE 

T  TOW  well  I  remember  the  day  that  I  spent 

On  that  far  away  island  where  all  is  content ; 
When  sweet  from  the  woodland,  'midst  bramble  and 

brake, 

The  birds  caroled  on — it  seemed  just  for  our  sake, 
Oh,  where  on  this  orb  is  a  spot  that  we  feel 
The  rapture  of  loving  as  on  the  Presque  Isle  ? 

I  laved  in  her  looks  and  I  bathed  in  her  smiles, 
Nor  thought  of  the  nook  where  the  serpent  beguiles ; 
I  watched  the  calm  glow  of  her  passionate  cheek, 
As  in  maidenhood  only  those  blushes  can-  speak. 
How  I  ardently  knelt  at  her  feet  to  reveal 
The  love  that  was  born  far  away  on  Presque  Isle. 

When  the  stars  had  come  out  in  the  clear  northern 

skies 
They  but  beamed  on  my  soul,  ah !  less  bright  than 

her  eyes, 

And  I  turned  in  despair  from  the  orbs  up  above 
To  gaze  in  the  eyes  of  an  angel  of  Jove. 
161 


Presque  Isle 

Our  lips  met,  oh  !  why  should  we  longer  conceal 
Our  love  on  that  rapturous,  star-lit  Presque  Isle  ? 

I  'm  still  looking  back  on  that  island  to-day, 

But  my  lips  they  are  mute — I  have  nothing  to  say, 

Except  that  my  soul  I  claim  as  my  own, 

Tho*  my  soft  auburn  hair  is  all  scatter' d  and  strown, 

And  after  each  cyclone  in  silence  I  kneel 

And  pray  for  an  earthquake  to  sink  the  Presque  Isle, 


162 


BEULAH  LAND 

de  ribber  in  Beulah  Lan' 
De  lubly  angels  in  white  robes  stan'; 
Dey  beckon  me  dar,  I  kin  hyar  de  ban', 
Ober  de  ribber  in  Beulah  Lan'. 

Ober  de  ribber  what  sights  I  see  ! 
Somebody  Stan's  dar  a-waitin'  fo  me ; 
Stan's  on  de  sho'  ob  dejaspah  Sea, 
A-callin';  he  says  dar 's  res'  fo'  me. 

Ober  de  ribber  I  soon  mus'  go, 
Weary  ob  waitin*  fro'  all  dis  woe ; 
An'  when  my  journey  is  ended  I  know 
Dat  de  Good  Shepherd  will  open  de  do'. 

Ober  de  ribber  my  soul  takes  wing, 

De  songs  ob  Zion  I  hyar  'em  sing; 

When  tuned  to  de  harps  how  our  voices  will  ring 

Close  'roun'  de  frone  ob  de  Hebenly  King. 

Ober  de  ribber  dey  beckon  to  me, 
De  ribber  dat  flows  to  de  Jaspah  Sea  ; 
163 


Beulah  Land 

Ober  de  ribber  you  all  mus*  know 

Dat  de  Good  Shepherd  will  open  de  do*. 

Den  we  Ml  shout  glory  an*  praise  'im  an*  sing 
'Long  up  de  golden  streets,  how  it  will  ring; 
Close  to  de  Massa  fo'evah  we  Ml  stan', 
Ober  de  ribber  in  Beulah  Lan'. 


164 


THE  BLACKBIRD  AND  THE 
THRUSH 

• 

44  TT  'S  my  idee,"  a  blackbird  said, 
As  he  sat  in  a  mulberry  bush, 
"It 's  my  idee,  it  seems  to  me, 
I  can  warble  as  well  as  a  thrush." 

"  Let  'er  go,  let  'er  go,'*  said  a  carrion  crow, 
As  he  swung  on  an  old  clothesline, 

"For  I  won't  budge,  but  I  '11  act  as  judge, 
And  the  winner  I  '11  ask  to  dine." 

In  a  minor  key  the  thrush  sang  he, 

'Way  up  in  an  elm  remote, 
And  twice  and  thrice  like  paradise 

Songs  welled  from  the  warbler's  throat. 

Then  a  rooster  he,  in  his  usual  glee, 

Flew  up  on  the  barnyard  fence, 
And  he  crowed  and  he  crowed ;  then  he  said : 
"I '11  be  Wowed 

If  that  is  n't  simply  immense." 


The  Blackbird  and  the  Thrush 

Then  the  blackbird,  well,  he  listened  a  spell 

And  began  in  garrulous  run, 
But  he  was  n't  admired,  for  a  farmer  tired — 

Well,  he  up  and  fired  a  gun. 

Then  the  black  crow  said,  as  he  rested  his  head 
"  I  want  to  go  somewhere  and  die." 

And  a  young  cock-a-too  said  :   "  I  do,  too,'* 
And  a  parrot  said  :   "  So  do  I." 


KJ6 


DE  SPRING-HOUSE 

1T\OWN  to  de  spring-house  am  whar  I  long  to 
-*~^          vvandah — 

De  ole  do'  a-creakin'  as  hit  swings  to  en  fro, 
Down  to  de  spring-house  standin'  ovah  yondah, 
Standin'  ovah  yondah  in  de  long  time  ago. 

Down  by  de  spring-house  de  lilacs  am  a-bloomm' ; 
Hollyhocks  a-noddin'  an'  honeysuckles  thick. 
Down  by  de  spring-house  I  listen  to  de  lowin', 
An'   reckon   de   ole   brindle   cow  am  wadin'   up   de 
creek. 

Down  by  de  spring-house  once  again  I  'm  walkin'; 
Ycllah  cream  'pon  de  shef,  kain't  let  it  be. 
Down  in  de  spring-house  no  use  in  talkin' — 
Col'  greens  an'  hog-jole's  good  enuff  fo'  me. 

Down  to  de  spring-house  missus  comes  a-callin', 
OF  hound  's  a-bahkin  an'  massa  'gins  tcr  shout. 
Down  in  de  spring-house  what  a  caterwaulin' — 
Jais  sort  a-waitin'  fo'  de  niggah  to  come  out. 
167 


De  Spring-House 

Down  by  de  spring-house  blackbirds  eat  de  cherry, 
Wasp  suck  de  honeysuckle,  clovah  feed  de  bee. 
Down  in  de  spring-house  niggah  nevah  worry — 
Down  in  de  spring-house  am  good  enuff  fo'  me. 


168 


UNDER  OBLIGATIONS 

A  NEGRO  PARSON'S  CHRISTMAS  SERMON. 

T  NOTICE  dat  de  weddah  's  rathah  chilsome,  mo* 

or  less, 
An'   I  notice  dat   de  back-log  so't  o'  crackles,  Lor* 

bress  ? — 
Ole  Crimp   is  on   dc   tuhnpike  an*  de  fross  is  on  de 

faince 
An*  Sam'  Claus  '11   soon   be   hyah,    so  chillun,  hab 

saince. 

I  seed  'im  on  Ole  Massa's  ruff;  twar  jais  de  oddah 

night, 
Wid  a  span  ob  balky  reindyahs,  bofe  um  dapple  gray 

an'  white. 

Dey  war  hitched  to  a  monsus  lookin'  alligatah  sleigh, 
An*  filled  wid  gifts  fo'  de  chillun,  piled  ebery  which 

un  way. 

Hab  any  ob  yo*  chillun  bin  a-sinnin'  ? 
Or  a-sassin'  yo'  suppearyahs,  or  a-grinnin'  ? 
Yo'  bettah  read  yo'  Bible  'bout  ole  Moses  an'  delawc^ 
Foh  yo's  undah  obligashuns  to  Ole  Santa  Claus. 
171 


Under  Obligations 

How  many  ob  yo'  chillun  bin  a-tendin'  to  de  church  ? 
An'  done  made  up  yo'  minds  to  leabe  de  debbil  in  de 

lurch, 
Hab  yo'  tended  up  to  Sunday-school,  an'  listen*  d  to 

yo'  teachah  ? 
Does  yo'  always  drap   a   nickel   to  try  an'  spote  yo' 

preach  ah  ? 

Am  yo'  wilful  to  yo'  faddah  or  yo'  muddah  ? 
Does  yuh  pestervate  yo'  sistah  or  yo'  bruddah  ? 
Yo'  bettah  change   yo'  tacticks   cause,  well,  jess  be 
cause 
Yo's  undah  obligashuns  now  to  Ole  Santa  Claus. 

Kin  yo'  ansuah  all  dese  questions  dat  yo'  pastah  has 

perferd  ? 
Ef  yo'  kaint,  yo'  bettah  hang  yo'  haids  en  nevah  say 

a  word  ; 
Foh  yo'  pastah  sort  ob  reckons  dat  de  debbil' s  bin  bo'n 

in  yuh 
An'  when  ole  Santa  Claus  comes  roun'  he  '11  surely 

be  agin  yo'. 

So,  ef  any  ob  yo'  chillun  bin  a-sinnin', 
Or  a-sassin*  yo'  suppearyahs,  or  a-grinnin', 
Yo'  bettah  read  yo'  Bible,  do  n't  yo'  hesitate  or  pause, 
Kase  yo's  undah  obligashuns  to  Ole  Santa  Claus. 
172 


CLEOPATRA    AND    CHARMIAN 

T  'M  dying,  yes,  Charmian,  dying, 
I'm  dying  to  stroll  out  awhile. 
This  eve  we  '11  go  down  to  the  Cydnus 
And  scare  up  some  old  crocodile. 

I  swear  by  the  Priests  of  Serapis 
This  Egypt  just  gives  me  the  blues, 

It  seems  that  my  only  companions 
Are  crocodiles,  storks,  and  emus. 

I  'm  so  melancholy  and  stupid, 

Sweet  maid  should  I  drop  in  a  doze, 

I  pray  you  loosen  my  sandals 

And  pull  off  these  long  silken  hose. 

Bring  me  the  asp  in  the  lattice  box 
That  Tony  caught  down  in  the  Nile. 

Pinch  up  his  tail  with  a  small  carob  stick 
And  then  let  him  wiggle  awhile. 

Last  night  my  pet  lion,  Augustus, 
Was  howling  for  something  to  eat — 


Cleopatra  and  Charmian 

Why  under  the  sun  do  n't  they  feed  him 
That  slave  with  the  pigeon-toed  feet  ? 

To-day  you  must  polish  those  idols, 
The  buhl-headed  idols — and  more, 

Just  see  that  those  lubberly  eunuchs 
Do  n't  spit  on  my  porphry  floor. 

You  're  getting  infernally  lazy 
*  And  looking  so  peeked  and  white. 
See  here,  miss  !  Does  that  jay  from  Memphis 
Think  you  can  sit  up  every  night  ? 

I  vow,  I  believe  you  're  weak-minded, 
Your  brain  seems  to  be  in  a  whirl, 

Next  week  I  '11  go  down  to  Miletus 
And  look  up  a  new  hired  girl. 

Go  bring  me  my  old  mother  hubbard, 

And  also  those  Indian  balms  ; 
Come,  let  us  go  down  in  the  gardens 

And  bask  'neath  those  lovely  dhoum  palms. 

Bring  also  my  pearl  brooch  and  necklace, 

Dear,  lazy,  old  Ethiope  girl  ! 
Some  wine  of  Ramesian  vintage 

I  '11  mix  up  a  nectar  of  pearl. 
176 


Cleopatra  and  Charmian 

We'  11  drink  to  Osiris  and  Isis 

The  great  Sphinx  of  Theban  renown, 

Old  Cheops,  the  father  of  pyramids, 
The  Ptolemies,  then  to  the  crown. 

By  Pthah  !  let  us  try  the  new  poison 
On  some  of  our  new  Roman  stock. 

I  'd  like  to  tip  over  some  pyramid 
And  give  the  old  mummies  a  shock. 

What 's  that  ?     Who  seeks  for  admission  ? 

Was  that  a  fog  horn  I  heard  blow  ? 
Can  Tony  be  nearing  the  castle  ? 

Just  look,  Charmian  dear,  ere  you  go. 

Have  something  good,  dearie,  for  breakfast, 
But  you  know  what  pleases  me  most — 

Some  pelican's  eggs,  a  la  Cairo, 
And  fried  phenicopters  on  toast. 

Remember  about  rising  early, 
Get  up  with  the  wagtail  at  four. 

So  smother  the  glim  in  the  hallway, 
And  lock  up  the  back  kitchen  door. 


177 


BUT  THEN 

JOHN  OSWALD  MuGUFFIN  he  wanted  to  die 
'Nd  bring  his  career  to  an  end ; 
Of  course,  well — he  did  n't  say  nothin'  to  me — 

But  that  's  what  he  told  every  friend. 
So  one  afternoon  he  went  down  to  the  pier, 
'Nd  folks  saw  him  actin'  most  terribly  queer  ; 
He  prayed  'nd  he  sung,  put  his  hand  up  to  cough 
An*  every  one  thought  he  was  a-goin  to  jump  off — 
But  he  did  n't. 
He  may  jump  tomorrer 
Mornin'  at  ten — 
Said  he  was  goin'  to 
Try  it  again — 
But  then. 

John  Oswald  he  said  he  was  tired  of  the  earth — 
Of  its  turmoil  and  struggle  and  strife — 

'Nd  he  made  up  his  mind  a  long,  long  time  ago 
He  was  just  bound  t'  take  his  own  life  ; 

'Nd  the  very  next  time  'at  he  started  to  shave, 
178 


But  Then 

Determined  to  die,  he  wus  goin'  t'  be  brave  ; 
So  he  stood    up  'nd  flourished  the  knife  in  despair 
'Nd  every  one  thought  'at  he  'd  kill  himself  there— 

But  he  did  n't. 

He  says  'at  tomorrer 

Mornin'  at  ten 

He  has  a  notion  to 

Try  it  again — 

But  then. 

He  went  and  bought  arsenic,  bought  paris  green, 

'Nd  cobalt  'nd  all  kinds  of  stuff 
'Nd  he  took  great  delight  in  leaving  it  'round — 

Of  course  that  was  done  for  a  bluff — 
Then  he  rigged  up  his  room  with  a  horrible  thing, 
That  would  blow  his  head  off  by  pullin*  a  string. 
Folks  heard  the  explosion — rushed  up — on  his  bed 
John  Oswald  was  lyin'.     They  whispered,  "He's 
dead." 

But  he  was  n't. 

He  riz  up  'nd  said : 

Could  n't  say  when 

He  'd  fully  decide  to 

Try  it  again—- 

But  then. 


179 


PINKEY 

T  RECKON  wintah's  goin' 

It 's  rainin'  'sted  of  snowin1 . 
I  tale  yo*  dar  's  no  knowin' 
Jes*  whar  dis  chile  '11  go. 

Might  go  to  Souf  Kyarlina, 
An'  summah  dar  wid  Dinah ; 
I  guess  I  'd  cut  a  shine 

Among  de  coons  I  know. 

Den  dar  's  my  good  ol'  massa 
'Way  down  in  Tallahassie. 
He  ain't  fo'got  dis  sassie 
Chile  dat  used  to  sing. 

De  why  he  call  me  "Pinkey" 
Was  de  colluh  ob  my  crinkey 
Frock  I  wore  so  shrinky 

When  I  use  to  dance  de  fling. 
180 


Pinkey 

We  gals  out  in  de  moonshine 
Would  dance  de  good  oP  coonjine, 
An*  dreckly  den  we  'd  soon  fin' 
Dat  missus  heah  de  noise. 

Den  mighty  quick  she  'd  hurry 
Down  dar  all  in  a  flurry, 
An*  fin'  dis  huckleberry 

A-dancin'  fV  de  boys. 

An'  den  de  way  she  'd  take  me, 
An'  land  ob  goodness,  shake  me ! 
Ol'  missus  raised  an'  brake  me. 
No  wondah  I  'se  so  good. 

Ol'  missus  used  to  tell  me 
Dat  like  de  cows  she  'd  bell  me, 
Or  else  she  'd  done  go  sell  me 
To  Yankees,  I  'se  so  rude. 

I  'membah  Rasmus  Biddle, 
As  black  as  auntie's  griddle; 
He  used  to  play  de  fiddle, 

An'  feet !  umh  !  a  holy  show. 

An'  dar  was  Luke  an'  Jaspah, 
Lucindy,  Jude  an'  Caspah, 
187 


Pinkey 

Dat  ignominyus,  'aspah- 

Ratin',  on'ry  lookin'  moke. 

Dat  ol'  cush-footed,  cramp-back, 
Dat  essence  ob  ol'  lampblack, 
Dat  inside  yih  !  yih  !  ob  a  smokestack, 
Us  gals  we  called  'im  smoke. 

An'  dat  new  coon  f'om  Cuba, 
Dat  use  to  play  de  tuba, 
He  used  to  pat  de  juba, 

While  I  dance  de  Mobile  buck. 

De  ole  banjo  was  a-pingin' 
An'  dat  pink  frock  a-swingin', 
Dis  yaller  chile  a-wingin', 

Jes'  hoein'  down  fo'  luck. 

I  ain't  no  Mobile  niggah, 

I  cut  no  Mobile  figgah, 

But  when  yo'  pull  de  triggah 

Yo'  pestah  dese  heah  shoes. 

An'  when  de  fiddle's  scrapin', 
Dar  's  too  much  music  'scapin', 
I  'se  got  to  git  to  shapin' 
Myself  or  git  de  blues. 
182 


Pinkey 

Yo'  wondah  dat  I'se  weary 
Fro  all  dese  days  so  dreary, 
Dar  ain't  one  ring  dat's  cheery 
'Bout  Shcawgo  life  fo'  me. 

Dat 's  de  raison  dat  I  'se  goin', 
Jes'  as  soon  'zit  quits  a-snowin', 
An*  de  col'  win*  stops  a-blowin', 
Back  to  ole  Kyarlina  State. 

Dar  de  ivy  am  a-creepin'  ; 
Whar  my  po'  ole  muddah  's  sleepin' ; 
Missus — 'scuse  me  kase  I  'se  weepin'. 
Seems  as  if  I  could  n't  wait. 


THE  BUNG  TOWN  CANAL 

you  remember,  Tom,  Billy,  and  Sal, 
he  old  swimmin'  days  in  the  Bung  Town  Canal  ? 
The  big  millin'  logs  fast  asleep  on  its  banks, 
We  used  to  jump  off  of  and  cut  up  odd  pranks 
In  our  tropical  costume.      We  used  to  make  Sal 
Go  home  when  we  swum  in  the  Bung  Town  Canal. 

I  never '11  forget  it,  an'  'tween  you  an'  me, 
You  'member  the  place  where  the  mill  uster  be  ? 
We  had  a  long  spring-board  out  there  'n  we  'd  scud 
An'  jist  go  head  foremost  clean  inter  the  mud. 
I  may  fergit  some  things,  but  I  never  shall 
Fergit  them  old  times  'round  the  Bung  Town  Canal. 

Nobody  need  never  say  nothin'  to  me 
'Bout  the  Blue  Danube  River  er  banks  of  the  Dee, 
They  can  't  perduce  sights  like  some  'at  I  've  seen 
Crawlin'  up  on  its  banks  and  off  in  the  green 
Old  marsh  where  the  scum  and  malarier  are, 
'S  the  pizenest  things  in  the  world  out  in  there. 
184 


The  Bung  Town  Canal 

Me  an'  John  Price  caught  the  gol  blamedest  thing, 
With  six  legs  an'  four  fins  'n  a  yaller-jack  sting, 
Two  eyes  in  its  head  an'  two  horns  in  its  tail, 
An'  it  carried  a  shell  on  its  back  like  a  snail, 
So  we  tuck  it  home  an'  skeer'd  mother  an'  Sal 
'Ith  what  we  fished  out  of  the  Bung  Town  Canal 

Once  they  's  a.  stranger  'at  jest  took  a  drink 

From  the  BungTown Canal,  an'  course  he  didn't  think 

What  he  was  doin',  an*  after  awhile 

He  went  an'  turned  yeller,  as  yeller  as  bile; 

So  doctors  all  went  to  perscribin'  fer  him, 

Makin'  his  chances  a  blamed  sight  more  slim. 

What  they  all  said  was  that  he  had  a  snaik 
Way  down  in  his  stummick  an'  he  better  take 
One  or  two  whiskeys  'fore  eatin'  each  meal, 
Then  in  a  week  er  two  mebbe  he  'd  feel 
Better.     So  natcherly  he  tuck  to  drink, 
Usin'  rye  whiskey  'bout  three  months,  I  think. 

Course  havin'  snaiks  in  the  stummick  is  tough, 
But  snaiks  is  a-knowin'  when  they  've  got  enough. 
So  gittin'  dissatisfied,  most  of 'em  fled, 
Some  hid  in  his  boots  and  some  got  in  his  bed. 
I  argied  the  pint  'at  he  never  'd  a  died 
If  they  'd  a  jest  let  'em  be  on  the  inside. 
185 


The  Bung  Town  Canal 

We  buried  him  there  where  the  low  grasses  creep, 
In  a  bed  of  pond-lilies  we  put  him  to  sleep, 
Where  the  meddy-larks  sing  and  the  cry  of  the  loon< 
An'  the  rice-hen  is  singin'  a  dolefuller  tune. 
We  left  him  alone,  after  writin*  his  gal 
Concernin'  his  death  an*  the  Bung  Town  Canal. 

Oh,  them  barefooted  days  an*  the  spot  where  I  'd  lay 
An'  jest  steeped  my  hide  in  the  glory  o'  day, 
A-hearin'  the  bulrushes  whisper  an'  sigh, 
An'  watchin'  the  shadder-clouds  hurryin'  by. 
How  I  long  to  go  back  there,  with  some  old-time  pal, 
'N  dive  off  once  agin  in  the  Bung  Town  Canal. 


1 86 


DE  MASSA 

Massa  to  dc  shepa'd  say  : 
Go  call  de  sheep  dat's  gone  astray, 

De  night  is  col*  I  hear  de  win', 

A  shakin  'gin  my  winder  blin'  ; 

Dars  some  po'  sheep  dat's  gone  astray. 

Go  call  'em  in,  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 

De  shepa'd  said  de  night  was  col', 
But  all  de  sheep  was  in  de  fbl'. 
"  I  called  'em  in  at  set  ob  sun  ; 
Dey  all  come  runnin*  sep  de  one 
Dat  's  always  wanderin'  away, 
An'  never  minds  de  call  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !" 

De  massa  then  went  fro*  de  gloom, 
Ob  medder  fields.      De  autumn  moon 
Was  dodgin'  roun*  behin'  a  cloud, 
But  still  he  goes  a-callin*  loud, 
For  dat  one  sheep  dat  's  gone  astray. 
I  hyar  him  call,  "  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dcy  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !" 
187 


De  Massa 

He  listens  long  to  hyar  de  soun', 
F'om  some  ole  wedder  pokin'  roun', 
Dat's  gone  to  res'  down  in  de  dell, 
An'  wanderin'  roun'  has  los'  his  bell ; 
Tho'  softer  now  so  far  away, 
I  hyar  him  call,  "Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !" 

But  furder  on  in  gloom  an'  damp, 
Upon  de  border  ob  de  swamp  ; 
So  chill'd  by  dew  and  autumn  win's, 
Right  dar  de  po*  los'  sheep  he  fin's  ; 
He  lifts  him  up,  an  leads  de  way, 
Yit  I  hyar  massa's  echo  say, 
"  Cu-dey  !   Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !   Cu-dey 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey!" 

An'  all  night  long  de  win'  an'  rains, 
An'  hail  against  de  winder  panes, 
In  dreams  I  hyar  de  massa  call 
De  wanderin'  sheep,  he  knows  'em  all. 
He  pints  de  road,  an'  shows  de  way 
An'  ever  Stan's  an'  calls,  "  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  ! 
Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !  Cu-dey  !" 

r  88 


COONIE  IN  DE  HOLLER 

/^•OONIE  in  de  holler  hidin'  hin'  de  logs, 
^^     Little  picaninies  ketchin'  pollywogs, 
Banjo  am  a  ping  ping  pingin'out  a  tune, 
Ebery  t'ing  am  lubly  as  a  day  in  June. 

Ping,  ping,  ping,  banjo  am  a-pingin', 
Sing,  sing,  sing,  yaller  gals  a-singin', 

Wing,  wing,  wing,  ain  't  dat  wingin'  fine  ? 
De  same  ole  step  in  de  ole  coonjine. 

Cindy  in  de  kitchen  tryin'  out  de  lard, 
Jusy  in  de  do' way,  rakin'  up  de  yard, 

Jaspah  am  a-pickin'  on  de  ole  banjo 

An'  he  am  a-singin'  "  I'se  gwine  home  to  Clo." 

Coonie  in  de  holler  done  gone  up  a  tree, 
An'  he  am  a-hidin'  whar  no  one  can  see. 

But  he  know  his  bizness  nuff  not  to  come  down, 
Kase  he  know  him  likely  meet  dat  frocious  houn', 

Coonie  in  de  holler,  hark,  I  hyar  a  gun, 
Git  a-goin'  Rasmus,  Jube  git  up  an'  run, 
189 


Coonie  In  De  Holler 

All  de  foolish  niggahs  runnin*  till  dey  pant, 
Bet  my  bottom  dollah  Rube  has  treed  an  ant. 

«'  Pee,  wee,  wee,'*  pee  wees  in  de  cedars, 
Bluebirds  come,  robins  an*  de  leaders, 

Cudder-rudder-rung,  bullfrog  just  now  sung, 

Hyar   dat   distant  thundah  ;    guess  dat  spring  am 
sprung. 


190 


AFTER   WEIDENFELLER   GOES 

TT's  goin'  to  be  blamed  lonesome  after  Weiden- 

feller  goes ; 

Catastrofies  are  follerin'  right  and  no  one  knows 
What's  goin'  to  happen  next,  for  banks  are  bustin' 

every  day 
An'  now  we  hear  the  woeful  news  that  Weid's  agoin' 

away. 

Weid  agoin' !  think  o*  that !  not  goin'  up  above, 
Nor  out  upon  Midway  Plaisance,  that  spot  the  boys 

all  love, 

Or  goin'  to  Californy  or  out  to  Idaho, 
But  yet  they  say  he  's  goin'  away,  that 's  why  we  're  • 

filled  with  woe. 

O'  course  he  ain't  goin'  to  die  or  anything  like  that, 
He  's    simply    got    his    sal'ry    raised    and    kind    o' 

"standin'  pat " 
With — I  believe  it 's  with  the  boss;   I  'm  bamed  if  I 

can  tell ; 
But  I  know  Weid  's  goin'  away — know  that  mighty 

well. 


After  Weidenfeller  Goes 

I  know  the  Club  '11  miss  'im  lots;  so  all  the  fellers  here 
Are  gathered  'round  the  festal  board  to-night  to  give 

'im  cheer. 
An*  send  'im  off  in  proper  shape,  which  only  goes 

to  show 
We  're  mighty  glad  he  's  prosperin'  but  sad  to  see 

'im  go. 

I  've  stood  upon  the  wild  sea  banks,  afar  in  Michigan, 
Just  left  its  sandy  shores  this  morn  to  be  here  once 

again — 
Back  here  to  meet  our  dear  old  friend,  with  heart  chock 

full  of  woe — 
An'  do  n't  that  show  I  'm  mournin',  too,  cause  Weid 

has  got  to  go  ? 

God  bless  'im,  and  let  fortune  smile  and  cheer  Mm 
on  each  day, 

Suckers  and  fame  still  tag  'im  on  an'  get  right  in 
his  way, 

So  if  the  Club  'pears  lonesome  when  the  frosts  are 
comin'  on, 

We  '11  sit  around  an'  say  it 's  jest  'cause  Weidenfel 
ler' s  gone. 


192 


ZACCHEUS 

ACCHEUS  clim'  up  de  sycamo'  tree, 
A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
Den'  'e  looked  up  de  road  jes'  fur  as  he  could  see, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Oh,  Zaccheus  knew  he  could  done  see  de  bes', 
Ef 'e  clim'  up  de  tree  he  could  ovahlook  de  press, 
An'  'haps  'e  could  sleep  an  git  a  leetle  res', 

While  a-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come  elong  come, 
A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
He  could  ovahlook  de  press, 
An*  'e  git  a  leetle  res' 
While  a-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 

Ole  Zaccheus  set  on  de  bow  ob  de  tree 
Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 

A  long  time  ago  in  de  ole  Judee, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 

Along  about  noontime  en  ebbery  ting  clear, 

Word  went  around  dat  de  Lo'd  was  drawin'  near, 
193 


Zaccheus 

En  de  press  begun  to  jostle  en  de  multitude  to  cheer 

While  a-waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come, 
Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  to  come  elong  come, 
A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
When  de  Lo'd  was  drawin'  near, 
How  de  folks  begun  to  cheer, 
While  a-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 

When  de  Lo'd  come  elong  'e  said  to  Zach, 

Waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come, 
"I  'se  pow'ful  glad  yo's  heah,  I  am,  fo'  a  fac'," 

Waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
"So  come  right  down  hyah  outen  ,dat  tree, 
Yo  *s  jes'  de  berry  pusson  I  'se  lookin'  fo'  ter  see. 
Dis  day  I  abide  at  de  house  wid  thee," 

Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come  elong  come, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
De  republican  an'  sinnah, 
Took  de  Lo'd  home  to  dinnah, 
Waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 

Now  Zaccheus  he  was  an  Israelite, 

Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 

En  he  lived  in  a  mansion  way  out  o'  sight 
While  waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
194 


Zaccheus 

En  Zach  knew  de  Lo'd  knew  he  had  stuff 
Enhewondah'def  de  Lo'd  was  dun  makin'  'im  a  bluff. 
But  de  Lo'd  went  home  wid  Zach  shuah  enuff, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come, 
Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come  elong  come, 
A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come — 
Oh,  Zaccheus  de  sinnah, 
Took  de  good  Lo'd  to  dinnah — 
A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 

Ole  Zaccheus  he  was  a  shuah  nuff  sinnah, 

Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come, 
An'  back  in  dem  days  was  a  seven  time  winner, 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  Lo'd  ter  come. 
But  de  Lo'd  told  Zach  he  mus'  gib  to  de  po' 
En  neber  let  a  beggah  man  pass  his  do*. 
Den  Zach  he  said  :   «  I  will  Lo'd,  sho'," 

While  a-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
Waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lord  ter  come  elong  come. 

A-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 
So  gib  me  de  po' 
Dat  pass  by  yo*  do', 
While  a-waitin'  fo'  de  good  Lo'd  ter  come. 


195 


A  RETROSPECTION 

T  'SE  a  sittin*  neaf  de  ole  magnolia  tree 

A     So't  o'  thinkin'  ob  de  times  dat  used  to  be, 

In  de  huckleberry  patches 

When  we  heah'd  the  steamah  Natchez, 
An*  de  white  folks  all  u'd  hustle  down  to  see. 
Dar  was  Missy  Elenor  aV  Julie  Ann, 
An*  Haidee  Lee,  who  lived  wid  Uncle  Dan. 

But  she  went  and  run'd  away, 

An'  de  folks  set  up  an*  say 
Dat  she  'loped  off  wid  a  wicked  no' then  man. 

Po'  Cindy  she  is  daid,  and  Aunty  Mary 
Doan  do  nuffin'  now  but  sate  aroun'  en  worry; 

En  ebery  night  she  say 

She  'specks  to  go  next  day, 
But  her  disease  ain'  one  dat  'pears  to  hurry. 
De  doctors  seems  es  ef  dey  had  n't  made  out 
What  't  is  das  makes  ole  aunty  look  so  played  out^ 

But  de  time  she  will  consume 

Turnin'  Heaven  into  gloom 

Will  make  de  Lo'd  repent  when  sh  's  done  laid  out. 
196 


A  Retrospection 

Missie  Elenor  she  married  Col.  Paxton, 

An*  de  scandal  'bout  the  colonel  do  n't  be  axin', 

But  dey  say,  I  undahstan', 

Dat  he  done  shot  off  his  han', 
Jes'  to  keep  from  jinin'  good  ole  Stonewall  Jackson. 
An'  Julie  Ann  dat  talk  like  she  was  hoarse, 
Dat  huzzy  she  's  done  gone  an'  got  divorce. 

Dey  lived  in  Chicamauga 

Till  she  moved  up  to  Chicagah, 
Kase  tings  is  mighty  cheap  up  dar  ob  course, 

Yo'  'membah  Haidee  Lee  ?     I  undahstan' 

Dat  she  's  trablin'  roun'  de  country  wid  a  band, 

An'  heah  she  sort  o'  prances 

Wid  a  skirt  an'  thinks  she  dances, 
Did  you  evah,  evah,  goodness  land  ! 
Wid  de  'vantages  dey  used  to  hab  en'  see 
How  dem  girls  was  all  turned  out.      Now  can  it  be 

Dat  cussidness  is  sown, 

Or  is  it  in  de  bone  ? 
Well,  hit  mus'  be  in  de  family,  seems  to  me. 


197 


ST.  PATRICK'S    DAY 


M; 


'AVOURNEEN,  swate  Isle, 
LI  am  lonely  widout  thee, 
I  sigh  for  your  hills  an*  your  calm  sky  so  blue  ; 
Shure  I  niver  had  cause 
One  shmall  moment  to  doubt  thee, 
An*  whin  I  *m  not  thinkin'  I  'm  dhreamin'  of  you. 

CHORUS. 

So  lads,  whin  I  call  ye's, 

Come  sing  your  "  Come  all  Ye's," 
Ah  !  here  's  to  ould  Ireland,  byes,  ivery  toime  : 

Och,  coleens,  beaisy, 

Your  dhrivin*  me  crazy, 
What  day  of  our  counthry  is  one  half  so  foine  ? 

St.  Patrick's  the  day,  shure, 

It  was  in  the  mornin', 
An*  oh  !  how  it  graved  me,  Mavourneen,  to  part ; 

But  I  left  ye's,  as  I 

Left  me  mother,  a-mournin' 

An*  kissin'  the  shamrock  she  placed  near  me  heart. 
198 


St.  Patrick's  Day 


I  'm  sorry  I  left  ye's 

To  cross  the  deep  wather, 

For  the  game   that  I  've  played   wid  misfortune's  a 
draw  ; 

But  do  n't  ye  be  ailin', 

I  '11  soon  be  a-sailin* 
Away  to  the  Isle  of  swate  "  Erin  go  Bragh." 

Then  lend  me  the  harp 

And  I'll  wake  "Tipperary," 
Sing  "By  Killarney  "  wid  "  Noreen  Maureen"  ; 

The  shamrock  I  'm  pressin', 

An'  while  I  'm  confessin' 
I'mpraisin'  St.  Patrick  un'  "wearin'  the  green." 


199 


INJUN  SUMMAH 

TP\E  Injun  summah's  comin', 
•^•^De  bees  is  all  froo  hummin', 
De  watah-mellon  thumbin' 

Has  passed  long  time  ago. 
De  ole  clock  in  de  kitchen 
Is  tickin'  mos'  bewitchin', 
While  Gabe  is  out  unhitchin' 

Just  kase  it  looks  like  snow. 

De  lambs  is  runnin'  over 
De  aftahmath  ob  clovah, 
An'  yondah  comes  de  drovah  ; 

I  'spec  he '  got  a  yahn 
About  de  ole  bell-weddah 
Dat's  wand'rin  roun'  de  meddah 
An'  wants  ter  git  togeddah 

Wid  de  sheep  up  roun'  de  bahn0 

Some  days  de  sun  is  shinin', 
Some  days  de  win'  is  whinin', 
200 


Injun  Summah 

An'  den  I'se  after  fin'in' 

Big  pippins  on  de  groan'  ; 
De  birds  hab  all  stopped  singin', 
Wil'  geese  is  soufward  wingin', 
Jes'  look  an*  see  'em  stringin' 
Whar  warmah  weddah's  foun' 

De  yaller  cat  is  nappin' 

En  layin'  roun'  an'  gappin'  ; 

Bimeby  he  will  be  slappin' 

Some  tom-cat  on  de  wall. 
Dar's  a  mellah,  yellah  glory 
Kase  de  yeah  is  ol'  an'  ho'ry, 
An'  a  melancholy  story 

So't  o'  hangin'  roun'  us  all. 


301 


'CAUSE  IT'S  GITTIN'  SPRING 

'T'HE  medder  lark  is  pipin'  forth  a  sweeter  note  to 

me, 

And  I  hear  the  pewees  over  yonder  in  the  cedar  tree  ; 
The  popple  leaves  is  quiv'rin'  'cause  the  wind  is  in 

the  west, 
And  the  robin's  'round  a-hookin'  straws  to  build  his- 

self  a  nes' ; 
The  blackbird  he  's  a-flashin'  up  the  crimson  on  his 

wing. 

What 's  the  reason  ? 

Oh,  the  reason's  'cause  it's  gittin'  spring. 

The  old  man's  got  therheumatiz  an'  stiff  as  he  can  be  ; 
Why  it  do  n't  git  settled  weather's  moah'n  he  can  see  ? 
But  when  it  clears  off  splendid,  then  he's  feared  the 

crops  is  lost, 
An'  he   reckons  jest  a  little  wind  'ud  keep  away  the 

frost. 

The  kitchen  door  is  open  ;  I  can  hear  Elmiry  sing. 
What 's  the  reason  ? 

Oh,  the  reason's  'cause  it's  gittin'  spring. 

203 


'Cause  It's  Gittin'  Spring 

The  air  is  kind  o'  soft'nin*   and  you   think  it's  goin* 
to  storm  ; 

Sometimes  it's  kind  o'  chilly,  then  again  it  comes  off 
warm  ; 

An'  jest  when  it  's  the  stillest  you  can  hear  the  bull 
frog's  note, 

An'  it  'pears  as  if  he  wonder' d  how  the  frost  got  in 
his  throat. 

The  ducks  and  geese  are  riotous,  an'  strainin'  hard  to 
sing. 

What 's  the  reason  ? 
Oh,  the  reason's  cause  it's  gittin'  spring. 


20S 


DECORATE  DE  CABIN 

T  'SE  done  gwine  ter  decorate  mah  cabin, 

Wid  all  de  brick-er-brack  I  'se  been  a-habbin', 

Den  I  'se  boun'  ter  hunt  er  wife, 

'Deed  I  is,  yo'  bet  yo'  life. 
Dar  's  nuffin  like  a  woman  roun'  er  blabbin'. 

I  'se  gwine  ter  hang  a  coon  skin  on  de  do', 
En  hab  some  Turkey  rugs  roun'  on  de  flo'; 

An'  I  nevah  yet  hab  seen 

De  ole  cabin  look  ser  clean, 
Ef  yo'  peep  in  dar  some  time  yo  '11  fin'  it  so. 

I  los'  mah  wife  las'  summah,  Jane  Safras, 
Kase  she  done  got  up  'n  blew  out  de  gas, 

An'  eber  since  her  leabin' 

I  'se  been  a  sort  o'  greebin, 
But  I  hope  de  one  I  'se  ketchin'  now  '11  las'. 

We  's  gwine  ter  start  right  in  to  decoratin', 
An'  yo'  '11  be  surprised  at  what  I  'm  statin', 
204 


Decorate  De  Cabin 

She  's  six  feet  high  en  taperin', 
En  out  ob  sight  in  paperin', 
I  'se  mighty  glad  I  'se  been  so  long  a-waitin'. 

We's  gwine  ter  'range  de  pictures  on  de  wall — 
Yo'  talk  about  a  fine  reception  hall — 

Yo'  ought  to  see  de  flowahs, 

En  de  chromios  in  ours, 
Wy,  de  white  man's  house  ain*  in  de  thing  at  all. 


205 


THE  ULTIMATUM 


4  4  X7"OU  can  decorate  your  office 

•"•      With  a  thousand  gilded  signs, 
And  have  upholstered  furniture 

In  quaint  antique  designs  ; 
Have  the  latest  patent  telephone 

Where  you  can  yell  '  Hello  !  ' 
But,"  said  she,  "  I  just  made  up  my  mind 

That  typewriter  must  go. 

"You  can  stay  down  at  the  office, 

As  you  have  done,  after  hours; 
And,  if  you  are  partial  to  bouquets, 

I  '11  furnish  you  with  flowers. 
You  can  spring  the  old  club  story 

When  you  come  home  late,  you  know, 
But,  remember,  I  Ve  made  up  my  mind 

That  typewriter  must  go. 

"  You  can  let  your  bookkeepers  lay  off" 
And  see  a  game  of  ball  ; 
206 


The  Ultimatum 

The  office-boy  can  leave  at  noon 

Or  not  show  up  at  all. 
There — what  is  this  upon  your  coat  ? 

It  is  n't  mine  I  know. 
I  think  I  know  a  thing  or  two — 

That  typewriter  shall  go." 


207 


DREAMY  DAYS 

H  !  the  dreamy  days  of  youth, 
In  appearance  how  uncouth, 
As  we  waded  through  the  frog  ponds  and 

The  ditches. 

With  big  patches  on  each  knee, 
And  where  they  had  n't  ought  to  be. 
Oh  !  the  days  when  one  suspender 
Held  our  breeches. 

Oh  !  the  dreamy  days  of  yore, 

And  the  slippery  cellar  door. 

Oh  !  that  cherry  tree  whose  fruit  we  oft 

Were  testing. 

Then  we  *d  wait  till  after  tea, 
When  we  Jd  sing  with  doleful  glee. 
Oh  !  how  often  mother  made  it 

Interesting. 


208 


WHEN  THE  STAGE  GITS  IN 

A?  'LL  git  a  letter,  'nd  Uncle  Zed  a  book, 
'Nd  Aunty  Jane  expects  er  magazine; 

'Nd  school' 11  all  be  out, 

'Nd  the  children  run  'nd  shout, 
While  a-playin'  "one-old-cat"  out  on  the  green. 

An'  the  men  'at 's  in  the  grocery  store 

'LI  come  outside  'nd  stand 
'Nd  talk,  'nd  look  around  'nd  grin  ; 

Per  the  folks  down  at  the  post-office 

A-standin'  all  around 
Are  happy  when  the  stage  gits  in. 

Ma  has  done  the  bakin',  'nd  made  some  patty  cakes, 
'Nd  Lizzie  has  done  the  sweepin'  all  alone  ; 

An'  she's  dustin'  up  the  furniture 

'Nd  settin'  things  about, 
'Cause  tomorry  we  're  expectin'  Aunt  Se'phrone. 

Nan  has  had  'er  hair  did  up 

In  papers  all  night  long, 
209 


When  The  Stage  Gits  In 

'Nd  to-day  she  's  a-frizzin'  it  agin ; 

I  bet  you  any  money  she  's  expectin'  some  one,  too, 

'At  '11  be  here  when  the  stage  gits  in. 

When  you  see  the  yaller  cat  begin  a-washin'  up, 
An'  'er  hind  leg  pinted  over  that  way,  some 

Folkses  allers  say  it  is 

The  surest  kind  o'  sign 
'At  company  is  liable  to  come. 
'Nd  when  the  parlor's  opened  a  sort  o'  funny  smell 
Comes  'cause  the  fire  's  kindled  up  ag'in; 

We  're  goin'  to  have  a  high  old  time 

'Nd  all  our  relatives 
'111  be  here  when  the  stage  gits  in. 


310 


THE   CULTURED  GIRL  AGAIN 

OHE  was  so  esthetic  and  culchud, 
^     Just  doted  on  Wagner  and  Gluck  ; 
And  claimed  that  perfection  existed 

In  some  foreign  English  bred  duke. 

She  raved  over  Browning  and  Huxley, 

And  Tyndal,  and  Darwin,  and  Taine  ; 

And  talked  about  flora  and  fauna, 

And  many  things  I  can't  explain. 

Of  Madame  Blavatski,  the  occult, 
Theosophy,  art,  and  then  she 

Spoke  of  the  Cunead  Sibyl 

And  Venus  de  Med-i-che. 

She  spoke  of  the  why  and  the  wherefore, 
But  longed  for  the  whither  and  whence ; 

And  she  said  yclept,  yip,  yap  and  yonder 
Were  used  in  alliterative  sense. 

Well,  I  like  a  fool  sat  dumfounded, 

And  wondered  what  she  did  n't  know 

311 


The  Cultured  Girl  Again 

'T  was  10  when  I  bade  her  good  evening, 
I  thought  it  in  season  to  go. 

I  passed  her  house  yesterday  evening, 
I  do  n't  know,  but  it  seems  to  me, 

She  was  chasing  around  in  the  kitchen, 
And  getting  things  ready  for  tea. 

I  heard  her  sweet  voice  calling :  f '  Mother," 
It  was  then  that  I  felt  quite  abashed, 

For  she  yelled,  "How shall  I  fix  the  'taters, 
Fried,  lionized,  baked,  biled,  or  mashed  ?" 


tit 


DE  CUSHVILLE  HOP 

T  'SE  gwine  down  to  de  Cushville  hop 

An'  dar  am'  no  niggahs  gwine  ter  make  me  stop ; 
Missus  gwine  to  deck  me  all  up  in  white, 
So  watch  de  step  dat  I  'se  gettin'  in  ter  night. 
Um-hm,  my  honey,  tain'  no  use  ; 
Um-hm,  my  honey,  turn  me  loose, 
Um-hm,  my  honey,  watch  me  shine 
When  mah  foot  am  a-shakin'  in  de  ole  coonjinc. 

No  black  niggahs  come  foolin'  roun'  me, 

I  'se  jes'  to  look  at,  anyone  can  see  ; 

I  'se  jes'  a  orniment,  an*  I  mus'  Tess 

No  niggah  put  'is  ahm  roun'  mah  snow-white  dress 

Um-hm,  niggah,  keep  away,  understand  ? 

Um-hm,  niggah,  look  out  fb'  yo*  hand  j 

I  'se  jes'  ter  gaze  at  I  must  Tess, 

So  do  n't  put  yo'  ahm  roun'  mah  snow-white  dress. 

Bring  out  de  banjo,  plunk-plank-pling, 
Watch  de  motion  of  mah  step  'an  mah  swing; 
213 


De  Cushville  Hop 

Do  n't  yo*  pestah  me  or  make  me  stop 
When  I  git  in  motion  at  de  Cushville  hop. 
Um-hm,  niggah,  keep  away,  keep  away  ! 
Um-hm,  niggah,  not  ter  day  ! 
Keep  away  from  me  kase  I  done  kain't  stop : 
I  '»e  jes'  caught  mah  motion  fo*  de  Cushville  hop. 


214 


GORD  ONLY  KNOWS 

T  SAW  an  old  beggar  dis  mawnin',  Lucindy, 
De  weathaw  was  col'  an*  bleak  an'  windy, 
An'  de  fros*  took  hold 
Ob  de  end  ob  his  nose. 
Whar  vvus  he  goin'  ? 
Gord  only  knows,  chile, 
Gord  only  knows. 

All  he  had  on  was  an  ole  woolen  jacket. 

An'  pants  dat  had  done  seed  a  mighty  ha'd  racket, 

His  shoes  war  all  out, 

Kase  I  saw  his  toes. 

Whar  wus  he  goin'  ? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  only  knows. 

He  said  his  gran'chillun  had  turned  him  away, 
Wid  nuffin'  to  eat  on  las'  Thanksgibin'  Day. 

Wid  no  ovahcoat, 

He  looked  about  froze. 

Whar  was  he  goin'  ? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  only  knows. 

215 


Gord  Only  Knows 

He  lifted  his  ban's,  day  was  bony  an'  blue, 
An'  axed  me  was  dis  hyar  de  main  avenue, 

Den  walked  ovah  dar 

To  dose  ten'ment  rows. 

Had  he  friends  in  dar  ? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  only  knows. 

I  doan  bleb  in  treatin'  a  gran' fader  so, 

Kase  some  day  it 's  comin'  right  squar  back  yer  know. 

An'  when  we  grow  ole 

An'  come  to  de  snows, 

Den  who  '11  keer  fo'  us? 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  only  knows. 

Gord  keeps  account  ob  de  sparrers  dat  fall, 
We  stan'  a-waitin'  we  soon  hyar  him  call. 

Gord  brings  de  wintah, 

De  rain  an'  de  snows, 

Gord  makes  de  win'  blow, 

But  jes'  whar  it  goes, 

Gord  only  knows,  chile, 

Gord  only  knows. 


216 


JES'  TAKE  MY  ADVICE 

JES'  a  little  sunshine,  jes'  a  little  rain, 
Jes'  a  little  happiness,  jes  a  little  pain. 
Jes'  a  little  verselet  sounds  mighty  nice 
'Bout  some  oddah  business;  jes'  take  my  advice. 

Jes'  a  little  chicken-coop  standin'  neah  de  fence; 
Jes'  a  little  dahkey,  too,  widout  a  bit  ob  sense  ; 
Jes'  a  little  pressin'  by  de  fahmer  on  de  triggah, 
Jes'  a  little  'splosion,  den  a  perforated  niggah. 

Jes'  a  little  lazy  coon  'roun'  a-shootin'  craps, 
Den  a-buyin'  policies  'roun'  de  lottery  traps ; 
Jes'  a  little  out  ob  cash,  jes'  a  little  stuck  ; 
Jes'  a  little  hungry,  jes'  a  niggah' s  luck. 

Jes'  a  little  bettin'  on  de  faverite  in  de  race  ; 
Jes'  a  little  ways  behin',  workin'  hard  fo'  place; 
Jes'  a  little  money  won  by  dat  oddah  moke. 
Jes'  a  little  ting  like  dat  lef  dis  dahkey  broke. 

Jes'  a  little  pressin'  on  de  latch,  wid  no  one  in ; 
Jes'  a  little  jewelry,  jes'  a  diamond  pin ; 
Jes'  a  little  sheriff  on  a  niggah's  trail. 
Jes'  sech  little  tings  as  dat  got  dis  coon  in  jail. 
217 


PATRIOTISM  AND   A  PENSION 

/~\LE  Fo'thobjuly 

^^Am  mighty  close  by, 
Kase  I  done  smell  powdah  in  de  ahr  ; 

An'  de  beatin'  ob  de  drums 

When  de  regiment  comes 
Sort  o'  'minds  me  ob  de  times  in  de  wah. 

I  was  chief  ob  a  division 

Dat  furnished  de  pervision, 
An'  1  done  looked  wid  pride  on  mah  troops ; 

I  haid  em  so  well  drilled 

Dat  none  ob  dem  got  killed — 
Ouah  bizness  was  inspectin'  chicken  coops. 

I  was  shot  froo  de  lip, 

An'  wounded  in  de  hip, 
En  fractuah'd  mo'  er  less  about  de  haid; 

At  de  trouble  'roun'  Fo't  Pickens 

I  was  skirmagin'  fo'  chickens, 
When  mah  foot  slipt  an'  I  fell  off  de  shaid. 
218 


Patriotism  and  a  Pension 

Gen'l  Sherman  gib  us  right 

To  forage  mos'  de  night, 
So  dat  's  why  I  'se  trompin'  on  dis  paig. 

I  was  out  abductin'  salt, 

When  somebody  hollahed  "halt!" 
An'  de  fool  up  an*  shot  me  in  de  laig. 

Jais  what  I  want  ter  mension 
Is,  I  want  increase  ob  pension, 

An'  I  make  mah  affidavit  fo'  de  judge 
Dat  1  was  in  comman' 
When  a  shell  bust  in  mah  hand, 

An'  fo'  fohty-seben  days  I  could  n't  budge. 

I  '11  stop,  en  hoi'  mah  peace, 

Ef  I  get  a  good  increase ; 
I  want  mah  pension  bill  increased  to  five ; 

Foh  mah  lip,  en  hip,  an'  hand, 

En  mah  haid,  yo'  unde'stan', 
An'  one  jes'  fo'  comin'  out  alive. 


319 


THE  OLD  MUSICIAN'S  FATE 

TJE  played  so  many  instruments 

A  thousand  won't  express 
The  number  that  he  handled — why 

'Twas  mor'n  that,  I  guess; 
An*  when  he  got  to  playin'  hard 

We  couldn't  make  'im  stop; 
It  seemed  he  did  n't  want  to  rest 

Er  ever  take  a  drop. 
He  'd  look  around  fer  things  to  play, 

Then  walk  up  to  the  viol 
As  if  he  'd  suddenly  forgot, 

An*  touch  up  that  awhile. 
The  mandolin  was  his  best  holt — 

He  jest  took  the  diploma 
With  his  Philomela,  Tierra 

Del  Fuego,  La  Paloma. 
He  played  an  upright  pianner  forte, 

A  concert  grand,  or  square, 
And  he  imitated  Paddy 

Roofski,  all  accept  the  hair. 

220 


The  Old  Musician's  Fate 

You  should  have  heard  him  when  he  played 

Upon  an  old  trombone 
That  song  about  the  moments  when 

One  wants  to  be  alone. 
He  played  upon  an  Mol'ian, 

Told  us  how  he  used  to  roam 
An'  play  "Little  Sally  Waters" 

Ten  thousand  miles  from  home. 
He  played  a  big  church  organ  great, 

Played  with  his  hands  and  feet, 
And  often  played  the  choir,  too. 

Oh,  it  was  just  a  treat. 
He  played  the  jewsharp,  hit  the  pipe, 

And  worked  the  organette ; 
He  played  not  only  instruments, 

But  everyone  he  met. 
He  played  'em  all;  you  should  have  heard 

Him  jerk  a  grewsome  tune 
And  play  those  eozoic  notes 

Upon  a  long  bassoon. 
He  played  the  soft  guitar  an'  scraped 

The  tuneful  violin  ; 
Old  "  number  five  "  was  his  best  holt. 

He  used  to  sit  and  grin, 
An'  jest  ketch  up  the  instruments 

221 


The  Old  Musician's  Fate 

One  right  after  another  ; 
It  didn't  make  no  difference, 

For  one  was  good  as  t'other. 
Strange  instruments — the  lyre  and  lute 

And  others  that  he  tooted. 
You  took  your  choice.     He  did  n't  care 

Whether  he  fifed  or  fluted. 
He'd  rather  play  'an  anything, 

Unless  it  was  to  drink, 
Because  he  said  it  rested  'im 

An'  gave  'im  time  to  think. 
He  made  some  curious  instruments 

That  nobody  could  play, 
And  said  'at  he  would  jest  about 

Surprise  us  all  some  day. 
And  so  one  time  he  fetched  'er  out, — 

Of  all  the  lookin'  things, 
With  harps  an'  horns  attached  to  'er 

An'  run  criss-cross  with  strings. 
He  brought  'er  forth  an'  sat  'er  down 

As  if  he  knew  his  biz, 
And  when  we  asked  him  what  it  was  ? 

He  answered,  "  What  it  is." 
We  laughed  as  we  were  seated  'round  ; 
I  recollect  'twas  June  ; 
222 


The  Old  Musician's  Fate 

It  rained  that  spring,  rained  all  this  morn, 

And  rained  that  afternoon. 
There  seemed  a  touch  of  magic  in 

The  deftness  of  his  hand  ; 
A  look  about  his  pallid  face 

We  did  n't  understand. 
The  instrument  we  noted  much, 

It  had  such  curious  stringin', 
The  frets  arranged  in  such  a  way  ; 

He'd  made  it  so  for  singin', 
Then  touching  on  a  happy  theme 

That  carried  us  remote, 
To  sunset  lands,  for  melody 

Divine  was  in  each  note. 
We  listened  to  the  lullabies 

Till  all  were  silent,  stilled, 
In  memory  of  the  bygone  days, 

The  eyes  of  all  were  filled. 
Then  on  to  sterner  manhood  and 

Old  age.     Ah  !  how  he  played  ! 
We  saw  again  life's  pathway,  too  ; 

But  oh  !  how  far  we'd  strayed. 
Then  on  to  sunken  cheeks  we  pass, 

From  life  then  on  to  glory. 

223 


The  Old  Musician's  Fate 

O  song  !  O  dirge  !  O  sainted  theme  ! 
Sad  requiem  to  life's  story. 

That  pallid  look  now  comes  again, 

The  tremors  o'er  him  creep. 
His  head  falls  back.      Dead  ?     No,  my  friend5 

He  's  simply  gone  to  sleep. 


224 


A  RECORD  F'OM  WAY  'BACK 

XT'O'  spose  I'se  gwine  ter  cuh-comb 

•••    An'  boddah  wid  dis  nag 
Ef  I  low'd  he  was  n't  evah  gwinter  go  ? 

Why  chile,  yo'  make  me  tiahed  ! 

Dis  ve'y  hoss  was  siahed 
By  Pokehontas  fohty  yeahs  ago. 

I  'se  doctahed  up  his  wheezin', 

An'  done  stopped  him  ob  his  sneezin*  ; 
En  pahsley  cuahed  de  spavin  on  his  baik  ; 

Ef  he  was  n't  quite  so  bulky, 

I'd  put  him  'foah  de  sulky, 
An'  lait  yo'  see  his  motion  on  de  traik. 

'Ceptin'  froo  de  wintah,  las'  yeah 

I  haid  him  out  to  pastuah  ; 
But  de  famah  said  he  did  n't  hab  no  saince. 

Dar  's  nuffin  '11  keep  'im  quiet 

When  he  gits  down  on  'is  diet, 
An'  once  'e  eat  a  whole  bahb-wiah  faince. 
227 


A  Record  F'om  Way  'Back 

De  way  I  come  to  buy  'im 

Was,  de  day  I  come  to  try  'im 
I  'se  dumb-foundered  wid  de  way  lie  tuk  de  bit, 

An'  as  I  was  on  mah  way  baik, 

He  kerlided  wid  a  hay  stack, 
An'  hi  could  n't  coax  'is  tenshun  offen  hit. 

Yo'  notice  dat  he  winks,  sah, 

He  's  comin'  out  de  kinks,  sah  ; 
An'  mine  yo'  doan  go  nyah  his  heels  at  all, 

Kase  'e's  nuhvas  an'  'e's  dangus, 

An'  speshly  so  to  strangus, 
An'  hi  nevah  'low  no  pusson  'roun'  'is  stall. 

He  's  pow'ful  fond  ob  grazin' 

An'  his  appytite's  amazin*  ; 
Dat 's  a  sho  sign  dat  'e's  got  good  bottom  to  'im. 

When  I  bought  'im  'e's  so  thin 

Dat  'e  could  n't  ketch  's  win', 
An'  Rasmus,  yo'  could  read  a  papah  thro'  'im. 

I  tale  yo'  he  's  a  hummah, 

'Low  I  '11  show  de  folks  dis  summah, 

Kase  jes'  now  he  aint  feelin'  zackly  bright, 
When  he  gets  'is  second  win'  sah, 
Yo'  ought  to  see  him  spin,  sah, 

Why,  chile,  dat  hoss's  reckod  's  out  ob  sight. 
228 


THANKSGIBBIN    IN   OLE  VIR- 
GINNY 

>-pER-DAY  'S  Thanksgibbin', 

A    En  good  Ian'  er  libbin', 
Go  gib  de  old  hoss  er  double  mess  o*  co'n. 
Ole  pot  bubble 
Possum  's  in  trouble, 

An*  we  's  gwine  ter  Teas'  upon  'im  sho  's  yo'  bo'n. 
Nigger  vvid  de  long  straw  he  git  de  possum  ; 

Nigger  wid  de  nex'  straw  de  jack  rabbit ;  den 
Nigger  wid  de  nex'  one  he  gets  de  turkey, 

But  de  short  straw  done  draw  de  little  Guinea  hen. 
De  little  speckle'  hen, 
De  little  Guinea  hen, 
Little  pickaninny  has  ter  eat  de  Guinea  hen. 

Ter-day  's  Thanksgibbin', 
Good  Ian'  er  libbin'. 

Po'  ole  beggah-man  comes  knockin'  at  de  do' ; 
Gib  'im  off  yo'  table 
Long  as  yo'  i»  able, 
229 


Thanksglbbin  In  Ole  Virginny 

Kase  poverty  an*  hunger  may  sometime  come  to  yo*. 
Darky  wid  de  long  straw  he  git  de  possum, 

Darky  wid  de  nex'  straw  de  jack  rabbit ;  den 
Darky  wid  de  nex'  one  he  git  de  turkey, 

But  de  short  straw  done  draw  de  litttle  Guinea  h«n. 
De  little  speckle*  hen, 
De  little  Guinea  hen, 
DC  short  straw  done  draw  de  little  Guinea  hen. 


230 


GRAVE  MATTERS 


W 


'EN  dis  ole  man  comes  ter  die, 
Death  is  mos'  unsightly  ; 


Doan'  yo'  lay  me  in  no  room 
Wid  de  pull-down  curtain  gloom  ; 
'Taint  de  place  de  dead  should  stay 
Wen  de  spirit's  gone  away, 
Off  ter  where  hit 's  brightly. 

'Struct  de  pa' son  Tore  he  'gins, 

Tetch  the  subject  tritely  ; 
Kase  hit 's  gcn'ly  undahstood 
I  hain't  been  so  pow'ful  good  ; 
An'  fo'  him  ter  shout  an'  groan 
'Bout  m«  settin'  roun'  de  frone, 
'Low  hit  won't  look  rightly, 

Wen  do  fun'al  'gins  ter  start, 
Shove  mah  box  in  tightly. 
'Membah  I  is  in  de  hearse; 
Yo'  am  comin',  but  I  'sc  firs'. 


Grave  Matters 

Ef  de  mo'ners  grieve  and  mope, 
So  's  ter  make  de  hosses  lope, 
Keep  de  team  up  sprightly. 

Lowah  me  slowly  in  de  grave  ; 

Drap  dc  earf  down  lightly. 
Needn't  linger  long,  and,  say, 
'Spense  wid  prayer  's  de  better  way ; 
Do  n't  keer  ef  nobody  sings. 
Jes'  ter  know  de  chu'ch  bell  rings 

'S  gwine  ter  please  me  might'ly0 


COMIN'   CHRISTMAS   MORN 

T  'M  goin*  to  start  next  Saturday; 

It  won't  take  more  'n  a  day 
To  visit  the  United  States 

In  my  new  toboggan  sleigh. 
I  've  sent  Jack  Frost  ahead  o'  me 

To  sort  o*  find  a  road, 
So  my  deers  '11  find  it  easy 

'Cause  I  've  got  an  awful  load. 

But  they  've  had  lots  o'  exercise, 

An'  know  the  way  by  sight ; 
I  've  speeded  them  to  Baffin's  Bay 

An'  back  here  'fore  't  was  night. 
An'  once  I  drove  to  Puget's  Sound 

An'  once  to  Behring  Sea  ; 
I  had  ter  make  a  trip  up  there 

To  get  a  Christmas  tree. 

I  wish  *t  you  all  could  see  my  house, 
Built  out  o'  cakes  "o  ice  ; 

233 


Comin'  Christmas  Morn 

I  guess  you  think  it  cold  inside, 
But  no,  it''s  awful  nice. 

All  carpeted  with  sealskin  rugs, 
An*  ermine,  mink  and  sable ; 

I  'm  going  to  keep  it  furnished  so 
As  long  as  I  am  able. 

An*  no  gomphobers  in  the  north 

Can  steal  'round  unawares, 
Because  my  castle  's  guarded  by 

Two  great  big  polar  bears. 
So  if  a  burglar  man  should  come 

An5  try  to  break  into  it 
They  'ud  squeeze  his  life  out  in  a  jif, 

I  've  taught  'em  how  to  do  it. 

Just  right  around  behind  my  house 

Is  where  I  keep  the  toys, 
'At  I  am  comin'  south'ard  with, 

Per  all  good  girli  an'  boys. 
My  big  cold  storage  warehouse  stand* 

Right  by  a  frozen  tarn, 
An'  right  along  aside  o'  it 

I  have  my  reindeer's  barn. 

So  never  mind,  they  're  both  piled  full 
Of  everything  on  earth, 

234 


Comin'  Christmas  Morn 

With  Christmas  gifts  till  you  can't  rest. 

I  do  n't  know  what  they  're  worth. 
An*  four  big  sea  dogs  set  outside 

Two  walruses,  a  seal 
That  knows  so  much  if  you  'd  come  nigh 

He  'd  be  the  first  to  squeal. 

The  purtiest  sight  you  ever  saw, 

'S  when  things  is  lit  up  nights — 
You  know  we  do  n't  have  gas  up  here, 

But  use  the  Northern  Lights. 
An*  forth  from  every  icicle 

A  dazzle  spreads  away 
That  turns  the  hull  big  frozen  zone 

Into  one  mighty  day. 

From  where  I  live  I  'd  have  you  know, 

It 's  truth  upon  my  soul, 
I  do  n't  have  very  far  to  go 

To  see  the  big  North  Pole, 
Where  Uncla  Sam  has  pinned  his  flag, 

There  's  where  the  cold  wind  pipe*, 
And  flaunts  the  emblem  of  the  brave, 

The  proud  old  stars  and  stripes. 

I  'm  coming,  children,  coming,  yes, 
You  ought  to  see  my  sleigh, 

235 


Comin1  Christmas  Morn 

And  hear  the  tinkle,  tinkle,  as 

I  speed  along  the  way, 
Through  forests  bare,  o'er  snowy  plains. 

As  sure  as  you  are  born, 
Old  Santa  Claus  is  coming,  and 

Will  be  here  Christmas  morn. 


SAD  FATE  OF  YIM  YOHNSEN 

A  Y  been  har  een  deese  country 

Fern  yar  go  laist  week  ; 
Ay  been  smart  Norwehians — 
Ay  keets  on  pooty  quvick. 

Ven  Ay  kem  har  Ay  see  beg  krode 

Of  fallers,  en  Ay  tal 
Ay  vants  mae  go  pooty  bad 

To  da  Stockholm  hotal. 

De  bus  mans  say  vere  you  kem  fram  ? 

Ay  say  by  Kopenhagen. 
Hae  puss  mae  rate  troo  krode 

An'  get  mae  in  his  vagen. 

Next  day  get  yob  in  enginc-hus ; 

Dae  fomans  he  like  mae. 
Hae  rase  mae  vadgses  leeta  vile ; 

Ay  tank  Ay  stay  vade  hae. 

Ay  get  mae  quainted  nice  gal, 

Her  nam  is  Christina  Yohnsen ; 

237 


Sad  Fate  of  Yim  Yohnsen 

She  been  har  bote  hawixteen  yar, 
She  kem  hare  bay  Visconsen. 

She  say  she  verk  Saidgeveck  street 

By  da  Norway  hotel  ; 
She  got  blue  eye  en  some  rade  hair— 

Ay  laka  hare  pooty  val. 

Ay  ask  hare  dake  a  street-car  rade, 
She  say  she  tank  she  voke  ; 

Ay  voke  by  hare  to  Lincoln  Park 
En  have  a  pooty  good  talk. 

She  call  mac  hare  partickley  frande 

En  den  I  tank  she  say, 
"  Who  vill  be  my  papie 

Ven  Yim  is  gone  avay?" 

Pooty  quvick  she  see  vooman  frande 
En  den  she  say  to  mae  : 

"  Mister  Yohnsen,  please  excoose  mae, 
Ay  vill  meed  yo'  after  tea." 

En  leeta  vile  Ay  tank  Ay  go 

To  da  Stockholm  hotel. 
Ay  meese  mae  money,  vatch  en  chain ; 

Ay  feel  mae  not  real  veil. 
238 


Sad  Fate  of  Yim  Yohnsen 

Ay  drink  mae  alcoholen, 

Bote  fifteen  glass,  en  svair ; 

Ay  fight  mae  two  policemans 

Ay  tank  Ay  soon  gets  squair. 

Dae  call  patrolen  vagen 

En  Ay  rade  to  da  yail ; 

Ay  stay  mae  dare  'bout  fern  day, 
Den  Ay  kem  out  on  bail. 

Ay  tell  da  yustice  man  abote 

De  rade-head  gal  Ay  seen ; 

Da  krode  of  fallers  laugh  en  say 
Dat  ya  is  pooty  green. 

Chicago  konty  vare  bad  place, 
Ay  loose  mae  vadgses  all ; 

Ay  take  mae  trunk  to  depot  train 
En  go  mae  by  Santa  Pol. 


339 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ST.  JOSEPH 

SPHERE  'S  a  place,  'pon  my  soul, 
A  Called  the  "  Old  Devil's  Hole/' 
By  the  Chippewa  chief,  Black  Otter, 
Who,  when  business  was  damp, 
Went  into  his  camp, 
And  filled  up  with  fierce  fire  water. 

Then  over  the  river 

Over  the  river 

He  called  to  his  squaw,  Maumee, 

"  Go  get  my  canoe, 

And  you  may  come  too, 

And  bring  little  Walle-wo-ge." 

So  off  to  the  river 
They  all  flew  the  ground, 
"Black  Otter"  as  brave  as  could  be, 
And  the  little  pappoose — 
He  could  n't  get  loose — 
Was  strapped  to  the  back  of  Maumee. 
240 


Legend  of  the  St.  Joseph 

They  floated  till  dark, 

When  the  wolf's  weird  bark 

Frightened  the  wits  of  Maumee  ; 

So  she  loosened  the  sack, 

Tied  fast  to  her  back. 

That  contained  little  Walle-wo-ge. 

"  Black  Otter"  bent  low 

And  reached  for  his  bow, 

When  the  boat  tipped  up  on  its  side, 

And  in  fell  he,  with  his  squaw  Maumee ; 

And  the  boat  set  free,  with  Walle-wo-ge, 

Sped  swiftly  along  with  the  tide. 

Down  the  swift  river's  tide 

The  pappoose  took  a  ride ; 

The  canoe  shot  along  like  a  rocket, 

But  he  lay  there  as  snug 

As  a  bug  in  a  rug, 

Or  an  old  woolen  glove  in  a  pocket. 

On,  on,  out  to  sea 
Drifted  Walle-wo-ge, 
With  his  face  pointed  up  to  the  skies; 
And  history  says, 
Which  is  true,  more  or  less, 
That  the  gray  sea  gulls  pecked  out  his  eyes. 
241 


Legend  of  the  St.  Joseph 

i 

Black  Otter  was  drowned 
And  never  was  found ; 
But  they  say  that  old  Squaw  Maumee 
Waded  back  thro'  the  damp 
Of  the  marsh  to  the  camp 
In  search  of  her  Walle-wo-ge. 

Came  back  thro*  the  swale, 

And  the  rain  and  the  hail, 

By  the  side  of  the  waters  so  blue, 

In  search  of  her  baby, 

To  pick  him  up,  may  be, 

I  wish  this  would  all  come  out  true. 

Her  spirit  distressed, 

She  beat  on  her  breast, 

For  the  poor  old  squaw's  grief  knew  no  bound ; 

But  Monets  so  swift, 

Bore  her  off  in  a  skiff, 

To  the  land  of  the  famed  hunting  ground. 

On  the  ninth  of  November, 
I  hope  you  '11  remember, 
A  phantom  one  plainly  can  sec 
Walk  down  from  the  hole, 
In  search  of  the  soul 
Of  poor  little  Walle-wo-ge. 
242 


Legend  of  the  St.  Joseph 

Now,  this  is  the  legend 

Of  this  old-time  region, 

And  the  tale  of  the  Squaw  Maumec, 

Likewise  old  Black  Otter, 

Who  fell  in  the  water, 

And  poor  little  Walle-wo-gc. 


LITTLE  JUDE 

OO'  little  Jude,  why,  doan'  yo'  know 
•*"  Dat  little  chile  ?     A  yeah  ago 
Her  muddah  died.     I  reckon  now 
'Twais  jais  las'  spring  F  se  tellin'  yo* 
'Bout  little  Jude. 

Po'  little  waif  indeed  she  war  ; 
An'  how  she  cried,  jes'  out  de  crib 
Dat  baby  war  an'  her  muddah  died. 
Could  walk  an'  run  an'  jabbah  some, 
Dat  little  Jude.     Hit  make  me  cry, 
Tale  yo'  hit  do,  jes'  when  I  tink 
'Bout  little  Jude. 

De  fun'al  day  she  war  asleep, 
Tuckt  in  de  crib,  dat  little  chile 
Had  on  her  bib — dat  orfin  Jude. 
De  mo'ners  come  ;  an'  when  dey  pray 
Dat  little  Jude  waked  up  an*  say  : 
"  Mammie  !  Mammie  !"  jes'  dat  way. 
Nobody  know  jes'  what  to  do 
Wid  little  Jude. 
244 


Little  Jude 

She  cry  so  ha'd  dey  HP  her  down  ; 
F'om  room  to  room  she  toddled  roun* 
A-cryin'  :    "  Mammie  !  come  an'  take 
Yo'  little  Judy  dat  's  awake — 
Yo'  little  Judy's  wide  awake." 
My  Ian'  !  de  teahs  come  in  my  eyes  ! 
But  when  she  foun'  her  own  high  chaih, 
Dat  had  been  hid  an'  pushed  it  up 
'Long  side  ob  whah  her  muddah  was, 
An'  den  climbed  up  an'  pounded  on 
De  coffin-lid,  I  couldn't  stan' 
De  awful  grief— de  sobs  an'  teahs — 
An'  little  Jude,  a-lookin'  roun' 
Foh  one  dat  now  at  las'  she  's  foun' — 
While,  chile  I  kai  n't — I  nevah  will 
Fo'get  dat  day. 


245 


LITTLE  PUCKEN  SINGER 

A  E  tank  Ae  gal  bae  "  ote  a  sate," 
•^^          She  bae  Little  Pucken  singen. 
Har  eyes  bae  bright,  lake  stars  bae  nate, 
An  bae  gol,  mae  ears  bae  ringen 

Vare  much, 
Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 

Des  var  fane  gal  bae  drass  in  vate— 
She  bae  des  contraldo  singen. 

Ae  tank  sometime  sha  bae  yust  lak 
Dere  fairies  tengs,  vid  clingen 
Drasses  on, 

Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 

Des  congs  sha  sings  bae  "  Do  Ce  Las,*' 

Bae  des  Spanish  langvage  written 
Da    pootiest  teng,  Ae  tank,  der  vas 

En  al  des  vorld.     Ae  tank  Ae  smitten 

Ved  har 

Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 
246 


Little  Pucken  Singer 

Ae  go  an  see  har  avry  nate, 

(Ae  vender  vot  sha  tanks  bae  mae  ?) 
An  sit  al  time  bae  dae  front  sate, 

An  look  bae  har.     Ae  tank  Ae  bae 

Beg  fools, 
Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  bus. 

But  al  de  same  Ae  go  vonce  more, 

Yust  for  von  glance  bae  har  pooty  eyes, 

Dae  make  mae  heart  stop.     Den  Ae  fale  sore 
Vare  much.     Ae  tank  ets  al  lies — 
Dose  eyes, 

Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 

Ae  tank  des  gale  bae  "  ote  a  sate :  " 

She  bae  Little  Pucken  singen, 
Har  eyes  bae  bright,  like  stars  bae  nate, 
An  bae  gol,  mae  ears  bae  ringen 

Vare  much, 
Ven  Ae  lave  dae  teeter  hus. 


247 


DOWN  IN  WALHALLALAH 

T  PUT  flowers  on  Leeda's  grave 
'  Down  in  Walhallalah  j 

Flowers  that  in  the  spring  she  gave, 
Asking  me  to  cherish,  save, 
Still  I  placed  them  on  her  grave 
Down  in  Walhallalah. 

Tender  rains  came  down  at  night, 

Down  in  Walhallalah, 
Took  the  flowers  I  had  pressed 
Tenderly  to  earth  and  blessed  ; 
They  returned,  ah  !  newly  dressed, 

Down  in  Walhallalah. 

But  one  flower  I  had  pressed 

Down  in  Walhallalah, 
Did  not  find  its  way  up  through 
With  the  violets  so  blue 
And  the  marigolds  that  grew 

Down  in  Walhallaiah. 
248 


Down  in  Walhallalah 

Ah  !  farewell  for  evermore  ; 

Farewell,  Walhallalah, 
Tender  rains  from  ashen  skies 
Never  more  can  ope  the  eyes 
Of  the  angelhood  that  lies 

Cold  in  Walhallalah. 

Withered  hopes,  how  like  my  soul, 
Down  in  Walhallalah, 

Never  more  shall  rise  and  bloom  ; 

Such  the  fate  of  love.     The  doom 

Of  all  is  but  the  tombed  gloom 
Down  in  Walhallalah. 


349 


SANTA'S  PRESENTS  FO'  DE 
GOOD 

T    ISTEN,  chil'un,  en  I  '11  tale  yo' 
-Ly   What  I  seed  de  odder  night 
When  de  snow  had  so't  o'  cover' d 

All  de  house  top  up  in  white. 
'Way  off  yonder  in  de  distance 

'Pear'd  es  ef  I  seed  a  road, 
En  I  heard  de  raindeers  rassle 

Wid  de  bigges'  kind  o'  load. 
Den  I  heard  ole  Santie  whistle, 

En  I  low  I  heard  'im  sing, 
But  I  know  I  heard  'is  sleigh  bells 

Wid  a  so't  o'  'culiah  ring. 
Den  'e  stopt  'is  sled  a  minute 

En  I  listen' d  well 's  I  could, 
En  'e  sang  :   "  I  'm  on  mah  journey, 

But  hit's  only  fo'  de  good." 


250 


Santa's  Presents  fo'  de  Good 

Den  jingle,  jingle,  jingle, 

I  could  heah  de  sleigh  bells  ring, 
Hit  was  jingle,  jingle,  jingle, 

Den  I  heard  ole  Santie  sing  : 
t(l  am  on  mah  Chris'mus  journey, 

En  I  'spose  hit's  undahstood 
Dat  I  only  'stribute  presents 

Whar  de  chil'un  mighty  good. 

ft  I  ride  ovah  de  house-tops 

En  I  listen  to  de  noise, 
Ef  I  hear  de  leastes'  trouble  dere 

Twix  little  girls  en  boys, 
Ef  I  heah  'em  quarrelin',  cryin', 

Er  see  'em  wear  a  frown, 
I  jes  take  out  my  mem'rand 

En  chalk  dere  number  down. 
Den  I  so't  o'  tech  mah  reindeers 

En  I  ride  ter  ebery  house, 
En  I  linger  neah  de  chimblys 

Whar  hit 's  quiet  as  a  mouse, 
Kase  I  like  it  whar  hit's  peaceful. 

Wen  I  heah  'em  go  upstairs 
En  Itneel  down  by  de  trundle  bed 

En  say  dere  ebenin'  pray'rs, 

251 


Santa's  Presents  fo'  de  Good 

Den  I  listen,  listen,  listen, 

Kase  yo'  see  hit 's  undahstood 

Dat  I  'm  leabin'  presents  mos'ly 
Whar  de  chil'un  mighty  good. 

Hit  was  jingle,  jingle,  jingle, 

I  could  heah  de  sleigh  bells  ring, 
Hit  was  jingle,  jingle,  jingle, 

Jes'  jingle,  jingle,  jing. 
"I  am  on  mah  Chris'mus  journey, 

En  I  Mow  hit 's  undahstood 
Dat  I  'm  only  leavin'  presents 

Whar  de  chil'un  mighty  good." 

Yo'  kain't  beleebe  it,  chil'un, 

But  hit 's  hones'  as  de  day, 
De  monsus  load  ob  presents 

Dat  is  piled  up  in  dat  sleigh. 
Dar  was  little  pony  hosses,  w'y, 

I  gase  dar  was  a  million, 
En  little  sleds,  en  dolls,  en  beds, 

Dar  mus*  a  bin  a  billion ; 
En  blocks,  en  games,  en  an'mul  names, 

En  monkey  on  a  stick,  en 
'Nuff  ob  lasses  kandy  dar 

To  make  de  hull  worP  sick  ; 
252 


Santa's  Presents  fo'  de  Good 

En  little  dogs  en  nanny  goats — 
Ef  yo'  mus'  heah  me  talk, 

I  saw  a  little  bogie  man 

Dat  ac'chley  could  walk. 

En  ostriches,  en  singin'  birds, 

A-standin'  on  a  wiah  ; 
En  little  hose  cyart  enjines,  too, 

Fo*  puttin'  out  a  fiah, 
En  Noah  en  his  an'muls, 

All  gvvine  into  de  ark  ; 
En  devil  feesh,  en  scuttle  feesh. 

I  jes'  want  yo'  ter  haik 
About  a  little  hoo-doo  man 

Dat  had  a  funny  tail  ; 
En  den  I  saw  a  Jonah  man 

A-swallerin'  a  whale. 
Yo'  nevah  can  imagine  jes' 

What  Santie  could  o'  had, 
En  none  at  all  fo'  chil'un 

Dat  is  impident  en  bad  ; 
But  all  dat  go  to  school  en  learn, 

En  try  ter  ach  up  good 
Will  sholy  git  a  present, 

En  he  wants  hit  undahstood. 

253 


HEART  OF  HEARTS 

H,  heart  of  hearts,  how  heartily  thou  beatest ; 
Each    tender   beat   beats    all    the   rest.     Thou 

greetest 

Me  each  morn  with  ever-constant  thumping — 
'Tis    thou,    dear   heart    of    hearts,    that   keeps   me 

humping. 

Oh,   brow   of   brows  !      By    thy    cold   sweat   I  'm 

browsing  ; 

Each  wipe  I  give  thee  gives  the  children  housing  ; 
The  sturdy  arm  each  day  sets  thee  to  sweating — 
Both  thee  and  heart  get  all  the  gets  I  'm  getting. 

Oh,  will  of  wills !     Oh,  wilt  thou  not  or  will'st 
Thou  push  me  on  ?     With  grand  endeavor  fill'st 
Thou  my  soul,  the  while  ambitions  blasting 
Shake  out  the  deeds  that  shall  be  everlasting. 


354 


SYCAMORE 

pECOOLIARITY  of  his  bark, 

•*•     An'  yit  not  only  that, 

We  found  'im  every  mornin'  on 

The  front  peazzer  mat. 
So  Cenath  got  ter  likin'  'im, 

'N'  one  day  says  ter  me, 
"  I  'm  goin'  ter  call  'im  Sycamore, 

He  sticks  so  cluss,"  says  she. 

She  used  ter  sic  'im  on  the  tramps 

That  come  aroun*  the  place, 
'N'  book  agents  'n'  other  scamps, 

He  'd  give  'em  all  a  chase — 
He  scooted  over  fences,  an' 

Aroun'  the  farm  he  'd  run, 
'N'  then  come  back  'n'  wag  his  tail 

'S  if  he  'd  bin  havin'  fun. 

I  never  had  ter  sic  'im  on 
Ter  any  livin'  thing, 

255 


Sycamore 

I  've  seed  that  dog  take  arter  birds, 
Yes,  birds  'at  's  on  the  wing, 

'N'  chase  'em  'bout  a  mild  er  so, 

Ter  see  'f  they  would  n't  light ; 

Then  he  'd  sit  down  V  watch  'em  till 
They  flew  clean  out  er  sight. 

The  dangdest  dog  he  was  t'  hunt, 

'N'  had  the  keenes'  scent ; 
One  day  he  smell' d  an  animile, 

An'  after  him  he  went. 
To'rds  dark  he  come  a-laggin'  back, 

'N'  any  one  could  tell 
That  Sycamore  had  captured  'im, 

We  knew  it  mighty  well. 

He  pulled  out  every  rooster's  tail 

I  had  aroun'  the  coop, 
'N'  kept  our  yaller  Thomas  cat 

Hid  underneath  the  stoop. 
An'  when  a  vehicle  druv  by 

He  'd  skoot  out  thro'  th'  door 
'N'  sic  'em  down  the  dusty  road 

A  half  a  mild  er  more. 

He  'd  lay  behin'  the  hottest  stove 
'N'  bark  out  in  his  sleep, 
256 


Sycamore 

'N'  work  his  jints  'n'  try  ter  run 
JS  if  he  was  chasm*  sheep, 

Till  last  he  took  a  fit  one  day 

'N'  stagger' d  'roun'  the  floor  ; 

We  thought  one  time  he  wouldn't  live 
Ter  sic  'em  any  more. 

He  had  fun  with  a  peddler  onct, 

An'  chased  'im  'round  the  well. 
I  wish  as  you  'd  a  just  bin  there 

An*  heerd  that  feller  yell : 
"  Git  out  !    Git  out  !    Call  off  yer  dog  ! " 

He  thought  his  jig  was  up. 
Says  I :   "  Do  n't  be  afraid  o'  him, 

He  's  nothin'  more  'n  a  pup." 

He  used  ter  sic  the  thunder,  too, 

An  't  used  ter  give  us  pain 
Ter  see  him  set  out  in  a  storm 

'N'  bark  up  at  the  rain. 
He  'd  shift  his  head  t'  one  side 

When  he  M  hear  the  thunder  roar, 
'N'  then  bark  all  the  harder  'f  I  'd  say  : 

"  Sic  'em,  Sycamore  !  " 

He  sict  all  of  my  neighbor's  sheep, 
'N'  did  a  pile  o'  harm; 

257 


Sycamore 

He  took  my  horses  and  my  colts 
'N'  raced  'm  'roun'  the  farm. 

I  jist  can  see  him  runnin'  yit, 
His  tail  a-flyin'  high, 

But  why  it  is  we  're  mournin'  now 
Is  how  he  come  ter  die. 

I  sold  'im  to  a  farmer  'cause 

He  got  so  cross  an'  mean, 
When  one  day  long  in  harves'  time 

He  jumpt  a  thrash  machine. 
They  said  he  give  one  little  yelp — 

'N'  then  went  up  the  spout. 
Poor  Sycamore  got  harvested, 

That 's  what  we  're  sad  about. 

We  mourn  to  think  our  dear  old  friend 

At  last  got  "squeezed  in  wheat." 
They  found  his  collar — tail — some  hair— 

The  rest  was  sausage  meat. 
His  gentle  bark  had  sailed  away 

Far  to  some  canine  shore. 
My  wife  shed  tears  'n'  said,  "  Poor  dog, 

He  never  '11  sic  'em  more." 


258 


VOLAPUK 

VK7HEN  I  can  speak 

**  Volapuk, 

Away  to  India's  clime's  I  '11  sneak^ 
And  on  my  adamantine  cheek 
I  '11  sell  a  piano  to  a  sheik. 

I  '11  sell  the  French  and  Dutch, 

And  lease 

Pianos  to  the  Portuguese  ; 
Then  I'll  drive  over  and  explain 
The  new  installment  plan  to  Spain. 

I  '11  journey  south  as  far 

As  Cadiz, 

And  sell  fair  Andalusia's  ladies 
Or  I  '11  exchange  ;  the  mandolin 
I  '11  take,  and  put  an  upright  in. 

I  '11  hie  me  then 

To  Baltic  strand, 

And  sell  Miss  Boskovitch  a  grand ; 
259 


Volapuk 

And  shovel  off  old  Peter  Katzski, 
Romanoff  and  Ruffbnratsky. 

Then  far  to  Greenland 

I  will  go, 

And  sell  the  sawed  off  Esquimaux ; 
I  '11  eat  snow  soup  and  Polar  bear, 
And  try  and  work  ' em  on  a  square. 

Of  course  by  this  time 

I  '11  have  a 

Cheek  as  hard  as  Hecla's  lava  ; 
I  '11  travel  West,  go  through  Alaska, 
Drop  down  and  talk  with  Mrs.  Chaska. 

I  '11  court  the  Fijis 

On  their  isle, 

The  old  chief's  daughter  I  '11  beguile, 
And  talk  piano  by  her  side 
While  I  am  waiting  to  be  fried, 

When  I  can  speak 

Volapuk. 


260 


MARY  HAD  A  CACTUS   PLANT 

MARY  had  a  cactus  plant, 
So  modestly  it  grew, 
Shooting  its  little  fibers  out 
It  lived  upon  the  dew. 

Her  little  brother  often  heard 

Her  say  it  lived  on  air, 
And  so  he  pulled  it  up  one  day 

And  placed  it  in  a  chair. 

Placed  it  in  a  chair  he  did, 

Then  laughed  with  ghoulish  glee — 

Placed  it  in  the  old  arm-chair 
Under  the  trysting  tree. 

Nor  thought  of  Mary's  lover, 

Who  called  each  night  to  woo, 

Or  even  dreamed  they  'd  take  a  stroll, 
As  lovers  often  do. 

The  eve  drew  on.      The  lover  came, 
They  sought  the  trysting  tree. 

Where  has  the  little  cactus  gone  ? 
The  lover — where  is  he  ? 
261 


THE  DAY  AND   THE  SHINGLE 

(A    PARODY.) 

'T'HE  day  is  done  and  the  spanker, 

So  oft  in  the  hands  of  mother, 
Is  soon  to  be  wafted  downward 
On  little  red-headed  brother. 

I  can  hear  the  fall  of  the  shingle 

And  poor  little  brother's  refrain, 

And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me 
That  seems  to  resemble  a  pain. 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  sorrow 

That  must  be  akin  to  pain, 
It  resembles  a  seated  sorrow 

That  boyhood  can  only  explain. 

So  I  hie  me  away  to  the  attic 

And  put  on  a  few  pair  of  pants, 

And  wedge  in  a  big  paper  bustle 
Belonging  to  one  of  my  aunts. 
262 


The  Day  and  the  Shingle 

I  can  see  the  lights  of  the  village, 
And  also  the  deep  muddy  pool, 

Where  often  I  ducked  little  brother 
After  the  close  of  school. 

But  she  calls  me  down  from  the  attic 

And  asks  me  to  take  off  my  clothes, 

With  her  able-bodied  assistance 
I  get  myself  ready  to  pose. 

I  take  a  recumbent  position, 

The  shingle  then  comes  into  play, 
Johnnie  sits  down  in  a  corner 

And  watches  the  sad  matinee. 

As  she  presses  her  thin  lips  together 

I  feel  that  at  every  rebound 
She  puts  on  a  vermilion  finish 

Where  my  back  forms  sort  of  a  mound. 

Such  things  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care, 
But  it  makes  it  rather  uneasy 

To  sit  on  a  hard-bottom  chair. 

Come  read  to  me  some  poem, 

Some  "Favorite  Prescription"  Iay3 


The  Day  and  the  Shingle 

That  will  soothe  this  restless  feeling 
And  take  the  stinger  away. 

Read  from  some  humbler  poet 

A  poem  that  relieves — 
Something  that 's  cold  and  frigid, 

From  Wilcox  or  Amclie  Rives. 

And  the  kitchen  shall  cease  its  sobbing, 
And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day 

Will  quietly  fold  their  breeches 
And  silently  steal  away. 


364 


HUCCUM  IT  SO? 

TTUCCUM  de  cows  so  early  home, 
**      Befo'  de  milkin'  houah  ? 
Bekase  dey  hyard  it  thundah,  an* 

Knew  las'  night's  milk  was  souah. 

Huccum  de  she  cat  in  de  bahn, 
Up  in  de  ole  hay  mow  ? 

Bekase  she  's  intuhrested  some 
In  raisin'  kittens  now. 

Huccum  dc  darkes'  hoss  to  win 
Dat  great  big  derby  race  ? 

Bekase  he  had  de  stuff  in  him 
An'  wasn't  held  fo'  place. 

Huccum  dat  sobah  bank  casheah 
To  pack  his  trunk  and  get  ? 

Bekase  he  knew  dat  Montreal 
Laid  ovah  Joliet. 

Huccum  dat  gal  so  shapely 
Dat  fas' nates  ebery  lad  ? 
265 


Huccum  It  So 

Bekase  she  's  got  de  sugah 

An'  knows  jes'  how  to  pad. 

Huccum  dat  han'some  No'th  Side  girl 
To  make  de  public  scoff"? 

Bekase  her  uppah  story  it 
Was  jes'  a  little  off. 

Huccums  de  eyarf  a  shakin'  up 

An'  scarin'  people  so  ? 
Bekase  dat 's  jes'  how  Belzebub 

Remin's  us  ob  below. 

Huccums  de  trees  a-glis'nin'  an* 
De  grass  all  wet  wid  dew  ? 

Bekase  why,  chile,  de  atmosfeah 
Had  nuffin'  else  to  do. 

Huccum  dese  metafizicks 

A-healin'  people  so  ? 
Do  n't  ask  me  no  mo*  questions,  chile, 

I  tole  yo'  I  do  n't  know. 


266 


DE  WATAH    MELLEN 
SPLOSHUN 

TP\AR  'S  one  fing  dat  Hi  would  n't  do 
Ef  I  had  any  common  sense, 
Go  sneakin'  up  to  massa's  fence 
An*  steal  a  watah  mellen  fro. 
Would  you  ? 

Hi  kno'  dat  mos'ly  fro  de  day 

He  's  lay  in'  out  dar  in  de  sun 
Behin'  dat  haystack  wid  a  gun. 

Hit 's  loaded  wid  rock  salt,  an'  say — 
You  jay  ! 

Do  n't  fool  aroun'  dem  mellens  dar, 

Torpeders  grow  dar  'pon  dat  vine  ; 
One  busted  las'  night  long  'bout  nine, 

An'  lifted  some  po'  niggah's  har. 
See  hyar — 

Hi  saw  de  sploshun  when  it  'cur'd  ; 
Hi  saw  dat  coon  a-flyin'  hence 
267 


De  Watah  Mellen  Sploshun 

Off  yondah  ovah  dat  rail  fence. 
Of  course,  I  would  n't  say  a  word. 
I  hyard 

Dat  mos'  de  fahmers  'tach'd  a  line 
To  mellens  filled  with  dinahmite. 
Yo'  coons  dat 's  gwine  out  dar  to-night 

Jes'  scuse  me  ;  gase  I  'II  stay  behin'. 
Now,  min' ! 

You  kno'  Ole  Birch,  dat  had  one  eye, 
Dat  always  got  to  church  so  soon, 
An'  'clar'd  de  eyarf  went  'roun'  de  moon, 

An'  said  dat  jes'  de  reason  why 
De  sky 

In  night  time  needed  bettah  light, 

Was  jes'  'cause  wicked  coons  would  steal 
From  ebbery  watah  mellen  fiel', 

But  Gord  would  burn  'em  up  seme  night. 
Dat 's  right. 

He  was  n't  to  de  church  to-day ; 

A  bran  new  coon  stood  in  de  spot 
An'  set  right  whar  he  always  sot. 
He  was  n't  dar  to  shout  an'  pray, 
Dat 's  what. 

268 


De  Watah  Mellen  Sploshun 

Hi  doan  s'pose  none  yo*  niggahs  hyard 
De  reason  dat  I  laft  in  church 
When  some  coon  ast  fo*  Bruddah  Birch, 

'T  was  jes*  las'  night  dat,  'pon  my  word, 
DC  sploshun  'cur'd. 

No,  sah!     Hit 's  neva  gwine  ter  do 
Fo'  any  coon  wid  common  sense 
To  sneak  up  now  to  any  fence 

An*  try  to  steal  a  mellen  fro, 
Dat 's  shuah. 


MISS  BAHTHOLAMEW 

CTECKS  we  's  gwine  to  hab  a.  time 
'Bout  dat  free,  mile  fishin'  line. 

Dar  's  a  ring 

'Roun'  de  moon, 
Sign  dat  trouble's  comin'  soon. 

We  's  been  lay  in'  'roun'  so  long, 
Gettin'  rich  an'  growin'  strong  ; 

Reckon  't  won't 

Be  much  fun 
Stoppin'  balls  dat  weigh  a  ton. 

Specks  de  vey  fus'  ting  dey  do, 
Dey  '11  shoot  at  Miss  Bahtholamew  ; 

Po'  ole  gal, 

Standin'  dar, 
Squintin'  o'er  de  sea  so  far. 

Ris  up,  den,  ole  Uncle  Sam  ; 
Punch  'em  wid  a  batterin'  ram ; 
-70 


Miss  Bahtholamew 

Hit  'em  lef, 
Hit  'em  right, 
Blow  'em  up  wid  dinahmite. 

Long  as  Miss  Bahtholamew 
Casts  'er  shaddah  on  de  blue, 

Let  us  stan', 

One  an'  all, 
Waitin'  fb'  de  kentry's  call. 

Hise  de  flag  dat  made  us  free 
When  de  boys  marched  to  de  sea 

Jine  an'  sing, 

Ebery  man, 
Hall  Columby  !      Happy  Ian'. 

Keep  Miss  Libahty  in  sight, 
Holdin'  out  de  mighty  light ; 

Gib  free  cheers, 

A  tigah,  too, 
'Rah  fo'  Miss  Bahtholamew  ! 


371 


THE  COW  SLIPS  AWAY 

E  tall  pines  pine, 
The  pawpaws  pause, 
And  the  bumble-bee  bumbles  all  day ; 
The  eavesdropper  drops, 
And  the  grasshopper  hops, 
While  gently  the  cow  slips  away. 


272 


vt  vtcunre. 


Wordt  by  Ben:  P.  King  Jr. 
Moderate. 


Composed  by  D.E.M'Ke* 


/.  There's  a 

-2  When    X 

deep           tan-gled    path....          in       the 
•  -  ven    -    tide   up  •   on     her     grave    re   • 

wild     •       wood,    Where  a 
clin    -         -    mg(     Whea     the 

' 

7  i  i  J  7   J    J  J 

*^H-^ 

'           phan-toro     voice       cow 

es    whis  -  per     •     ing 

to       me,                       And    it' 

1           birds  have     ceased      to 

sing     a   •      .  bove 

ber      tomb.                    Will  my 

7    'J'|J= 

P 

Copyright,  1886,  by  The  John  Church  Co.     Used  by  permission  of  The 
John  Church  Co.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

273 


r[li       y  J 

seems          to      n 
sad              heart 

ic 

ike       4            dream  of 
lev   -    er           cease    re     • 

child   -      -     bood         When  I 
pin      •       •     ing              For     rr.y 

jf^'       J        J       « 

t 

—  J      i  —  J  — 

JP1      1       1 

-P    p    h—fEEE£E 

wan   -    der'd    with     my    loVed 


ti-^-M 


oer         the      lea, 
an    -     gel       love     that  sleeps    with   •    in   ''        the      gloom 


i=i 


*       wan     -    der        a    -     long        n     . 
gen  -tie  stars      are      shin  -    ing 

to           a     .' 
up           a     • 

mead  -  owt                       But     a 
bove      me,                      While  the 

^=ti  i  ;  j- 

' 

r    ,     r     .= 

^  I    '  —  5  ' 

—  =  —  i 

phan  -  torn      voice    still          fills      me      with        de    -     spalr, 
ser  •    aph         an  -  gels          lis    •    ten        to         my      .   prayer', 


As   jt 
There  is 


274 


comes  just  from  out  a    fceasJ»tce  shadow,     And     it  whispers  to   rce    an  -gel    Yi       \\  . 
one  that  ev-erwhJsj^rs   still    1      Icve  thee,    And    my  answer     is     1      worship  Vi       Vi  . 


'"  )      There's  a  deep     tangled     path                  in        the 

»-iM 

—  i  —  w  _j 

•  wood  UT.ore  a 

*~  *'  '  I  n                 "  —  — 

3' 

.fcv/    r^rr- 

±3=*=^  ^=^=^- 

! 

23 

i—  *  —  ^  —  =*=  —  =Lt  *  i_i__j 

phajitom  voice  comes  whispering       to    me.  And    it  seems  tome  like   a    dream  of 


j|*F= 

-^                     J      j^^ 

^>_.Ulj-J 

^-ra- 

child      hood     When   I    w&r.dcr'd  vith    rr.y   loved  one     o'er      the     lea. 


375 


CHORUS. 

Soprano. 

^=rFffl 

T'1   '  -r+i 

SweetVi  Vi  -  g( 
fJllo. 

ers. 

An-gel  so   fair,       Ev-er-more       I  shall  wan-  der      to       the 

qj£_ 

or. 

™ 

=t= 

^ 

SweetVi 
/Ban. 

Vi  .  guers, 

y-f^-r 

FT  —  "  —  * 
An.geJ  so  ( 

a  r,       Ev-er-more       I  shall  wan-  der     to       the 

fe 

s 

F 

\'. 

i 

rf 

In    ]    ]     J       J 

mead     •    ow     To   eom-mun*      »-ith     my      an-gef  Vi      Vi-guer 

dim. 


sweet  Vi     Vi-gverr 


m«ad    .    ow     To  com  •  mune     with     my      an-gel    Vi      Vi  -guers.  sweet  Vi    Vi-guer«. 


276 


Ben  King's 
Southland  Melodies 

Profusely  Illustrated  from  Photographs  Made  by 

Essie  Collins  Matthews  and  Leigh 

Richmond  Miner 

Forty  poems  in  negro  dialect  by  Ben  King,  who 
had  remarkable  ability  in  expressing  negro  thought 
and  character.  The  verses  are  rich  in  humor  and 
pathos  and  every  poem  bears  the  imprint  of  King's 
original  style. 

The  illustrations  have  a  notable  value  and  in 
terest  in  themselves.  They  were  made  by  the 
foremost  artists  in  the  photography  of  negroes,  who 
spent  several  weeks  in  the  South  taking  these 
important  photographs. 

Ben  King's  poems  will  never  grow  old.  —  Toledo  'Blade. 

Ben  King  was  one  of  the  best  humorous  poets  that  Amer 
ica  has  produced.  —  Saturday  Evening  Post. 

Ben  King's  verses  may  be  recommended  to  those  suffering 
from  melancholy.  Some  of  them  will  never  be  lost  to  the 
world.  King  had  a  sense  of  humor  which  was  truly  Amer 
ican  and  of  the  best  order,  intellectually  speaking. —  The 
Chicago  Daily  Neivs. 

Handsome  decorated  cover  and  box.     Cloth ,  large  8vo. 

Price,  $1.50  net;  by  mail.  $1.65 

FORBES  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

CHICAGO 


Jane  Jones  and  Some  Others 

BY  BEN  KING 

With  1 6  Full  Page  Illustrations,  in  Three 
Colors,  by  John  A.  Williams. 

A  Beautiful  Illustrated  Collection  of  Forty  Poems 
from  "Ben  King's  Verse." 

The  book  is  beautifully  decorated  throughout  and 
represents  the  highest  art  in  bookmaking.  Thou 
sands  of  admirers  of  Ben  King's  verse  have  given 
this  book  a  warm  welcome,  and  many  others  have 
been  pleased  with  an  introduction  to  his  work 
through  such  a  charming  book. 

"The  most  attractive  gift  book  of  recent  years." — 
Piitsburg  Dispatch. 

"It  is  a  rare  delight  to  look  upon  the  volume." — St. 
Louis  Star. 

"The  typographical  effort  of  the  publishers  is  splendid." 
—  Cincinnati  Enquirer. 

"The  pictures  are  admirable  and  thoroughly  in  the  spirit 
of  the  book." — Kansas  City  Star. 

"This  is  a  fine  book  for  a  present." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"An  exceptional  book.  The  illustrations  are  as  full  of 
beauty  and  poetry  as  the  verses,  and  the  bookmaking  is  all 
that  could  be  desired." — Baltimore  Sun. 

"Not  to  know  Ben  King's  verse  is  a  reflection  on  any 
man's  habit  of  reading." — The  Journal  of  Education. 

Large  8  vo.    Handsome  decorated  cover  and  box.    $2.00. 


FORBES  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

CHICAGO 


BOOKS  BY  NIXON  WATERMAN 

Editor  of  Ben  Kings  Verse 
"  Nixon  Waterman  needs  no  introduction  to  the 
American  public.  One  of  our  most  natural  and 
musical  singers,  his  verses  have  been  quoted  in 
every  newspaper  in  the  land,  and  have  gone  straight 
to  the  heart  of  the  great  arrny;'of  'just  common 
folks.'  He  is  always  an  optimist.  The  world  is 
better — both  happier  and  better — for  such  verses  as 
these  of  Nixon  Waterman." — The  Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 

IN  MERRY  MOOD 

\  Book  of  Cheerful  Rhymes,  12010,  cloth,  gilt  top,  208  pp.,  $1.25. 

"  Genuine  poems,  aglow  with  high  and  pure  senti 
ment  and  sparkling  with  fetching  humor." — The  Congre- 
gationalist  (Boston). 

"  Nixon  Waterman's  verses  touch  the  heart;  they  are 
the  kind  people  love,  and  the  kind  that  will  live.  He 
teaches  the  philosophy  of  garnering  sunshine,  and  his 
religion  is  the  gospel  of  brotherly  love  and  kindness." — 
The  Worcester  Gazette. 

A  BOOK  OF  VERSES 

i2mo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  226  pages,  $1.25. 

"  It  will  be  impossible  for  those  who  love  verse  to 
read  'A  Book  of  Verses'  without  enjoyment,  and  more 
than  one  who  ordinarily  prefers  to  limit  himself  to  prose 
will  be  beguiled  by  such  numbers  as  these  of  Mr.  Water 
man." —  The  Chicago  Tribune. 

"The  simple  form  of  domestic  love  outlasting  all  the 
ills,  sorrows  and  wrongs  of  a  long  married  life  was  never 
more  sincerely  and  touchingly  sketched  in  verse.  Mr. 
Waterman  sings  of  mother  and  motherhood  in  the  sweet 
est  and  most  sympathetic  tenderness.  Of  childhood,  of 
youth,  of  love — his  Muse  plays  wilh  the  young  and  com 
forts  the  Old."—  The  Independent  (New  York). 

No  poems  are  duplicated  in  the  two  volumes.  Both 
books  are  choicely  printed  and  handsomely  bound. 


FORBES  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

CHICAGO 


BOOKS  BY 

FRED  EMERSON   BROOKS 

The  Popular  Poet-Humorist 

1 '  Brooks  is  a  great  poet  and  a  genius  of  great 
ability.  Humor  and  pathos  abound  throughout 
his  poems,  and  many  partake  of  the  inspiration  of 
the  war-drum,  but  he  is  thoroughly  at  home  in 
whatever  strain  of  melody  he  chooses  to  adopt." — 
The  Atlanta  Constitution. 

PICKETT'S  CHARGE  AND  OTHER 
POEMS 

Cloth,  i2mo,  gilt  top,  214  pages,  $1.25. 

"  '  Pickett's  Charge'  is  the  grandest  heroic  poem  I 
ever  heard." — GENERAL  MILES. 

"With  a  wide  variety  of  theme,  Mr.  Brooks  blends 
humor  and  pathos  in  all  he  writes.  Many,  of  his  verses 
have  the  brightness  of  the  California  sunshine  and  the 
sweetness  of  its  flowers.  Brimful  of  humor  as  they  are, 
they  point  some  homely  morals." — The  New  York 
Observer. 

OLD  ACE  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Cloth,  I2mo,  gilt  top,  208  pages,  §1.25. 

"There  is  in  Brooks'  poems  the  dash  of  the  un 
expected,  like  a  cavalry  charge."  —  GENERAL  PHIL 
SHERIDAN. 

"  There  is  a  freshness  and  music  and  joyousness  and 
jollity  and  naturalness  in  Fred  Emerson  Brooks'  poems 
that  make  them  charming.  In  the  handsome  volume 
the  reader  can  find  something  for  every  mood  and  con 
dition.  He  can  shed  tears  or  laugh;  he  can  be  jolly  or 
sz&."— The  Inter  Ocean  (Chicago). 


No  poems  are  duplicated  in  the  two  volumes.     Both 
books  are  tastefully  printed  and  beautifully  bound. 

FORBES  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

CHICAGO 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


O, 


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